Enemies
by alexanderavery998
Summary: [ON INDEFINITE HOLD] When Draco Malfoy's offer of friendship is rejected by none other than Harry Potter, he is left reeling. Unfortunately for him, this is just the first of many unexpected events at Hogwarts... The Malfoy Series, canon compliant till the Epilogue. Book 1, yrs 1-3. Series endgame: DMHP.
1. Chapter 1: Malfoy Manor

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** _I cross-post my works here (FFN), AO3, and Wattpad under the same username (alexanderavery998). If you find my works somewhere other than these 3 websites, please let me know, because that means they have been stolen and reposted without my permission._

Any dialogue that comes from the Harry Potter series will be marked by quotation marks called _guillemets_ (« ») and is solely J.K. Rowling's, not mine.

This is my first-ever serious attempt at fanfiction, so I hope you enjoy!

 **IMPORTANT UPDATE:** this fic is most likely (99%) never going to be finished, for several reasons. The biggest and most important reason is that I've grown out of it: my writing style and ability have changed drastically since 2016-2017, which was when this was written (I waited many months to start posting it); I've moved on to less heavily canon-based stories; and I'm just no longer interested in it. However, I will always appreciate how writing this changed my life — it reignited my passion for writing, helped bring me out of a very bad place, and paved the way for realization (and later, acceptance) of my queerness. Thank you to everyone who enjoyed this and encouraged me along my journey; I really appreciate you!

* * *

 **PART ONE**

 **{Year One}**

"Harry had never believed he would meet a boy he hated more than Dudley, but that was before he met Draco Malfoy."

— _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ , page 143

* * *

 **~ CHAPTER ONE: MALFOY MANOR ~**

Excited about the day ahead, Draco lay in bed wide awake as light seeped into the edges of the sky. He considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but it quickly became apparent that this would not work. Instead, he climbed out of his huge four-post canopy bed and threw open the curtains. The tall hedges that lined the walk up to the mansion were still shrouded in shadows, but far off in the distant rolling hills, the sun was rising. Only the house-elves would be awake at this hour, so he had some time to himself before his parents were ready to leave. That meant he could practice Quidditch — not that he needed to. He already knew he would be the best flyer of all the first years.

Draco changed, grabbed his broom, and hurried down the corridor, leaving his room for Dobby to tidy up. The Manor was one of the grandest wizarding properties in all of Britain, so the Malfoys had an entire staff of house-elves, including their main house-elf, Dobby. Draco had never had to clean up after himself a day in his life.

When he reached the stairs, Draco mounted his broom and kicked off from the floor. He let out a whoop of laughter as he zoomed down the curved staircase. When he neared the landing, he pulled up sharply and shot up towards the main hall's cavernous ceiling. He flew two loops round the chandelier before landing, a smile gracing his normally sour face. Flying gave him joy that few other things could. He couldn't wait to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team as soon as he was allowed.

"Draco, dear?"

Draco turned to see his mother descending the stairs. Narcissa Malfoy was tall, slim, and pale, with long, blonde hair drawn up in an elaborate plait and eyes the colour of the sky. Behind her was Draco's father, dressed in sweeping black robes that billowed behind him when he strode in. Lucius Malfoy was even taller and paler than his wife, with a pointed but handsome face, shoulder-length white-blond hair, and grey eyes.

Draco's heart swelled; he loved his mother and father more than anything else in the world. His mother was fiercely protective of him and his father, as well as loving and faithful to those she held dear. Draco was definitely his mother's son at heart.

However, his father was his ultimate hero. Not only did Lucius come from a powerful pure-blood family with prestige and wealth beyond imagination, but he was also resourceful, proud, and cunning, with a healthy thirst for power. Lucius had connections to the Minister of Magic himself, but he also told Draco stories about being the Dark Lord's second-in-command. Draco could only imagine how powerful his father was to have held such a position for the Dark Lord while continuing close relations with the Ministry. His father was harsh on him sometimes, but Draco knew it was only because he wanted the best for him.

Draco wanted to be just like his father when he grew up.

"Draco, dear," his mother repeated, stifling a yawn, "what are you doing up so early? You need your beauty sleep!"

She fussed about him, straightening the collar of his robes and smoothing back his hair, the same white-blond as his father's.

"Ah, leave him be, the boy's just excited," said his father, planting a firm hand on Draco's shoulder. "After all, today is the first step in his journey to becoming a respected and powerful wizard."

Draco felt a surge of happiness at the glint of pride in his father's eyes. Then the moment was lost as Lucius turned away, absentmindedly running his thumb across the silver snake head on his walking stick.

"I still would have preferred to send him off to Durmstrang," his father said, shooting a glance at his wife, who was now lovingly ruffling Draco's hair despite his protests that it would mess up his hair gel. "You know what I think of that crackpot, Dumbledore."

"Lucius, we talked about this," Narcissa said, putting a protective arm around her boy. "It's too far away from home — Hogwarts is much closer. Besides, it's already been set." She let go of Draco. "Go put your broom away, alright, sweetheart? Then come back down for breakfast."

"Aw, Mother, just a few more minutes!" Draco protested, although he already knew the answer to his pleas. His mother gave him almost everything he ever asked for. "I wanted to fly round the garden."

Narcissa let out a deep sigh, glancing at her husband before meeting her son's eager gaze. "Oh, alright, but just a few minutes. Then I want you in the dining room for breakfast."

Draco grinned triumphantly. Broomstick clutched tightly in hand, he bounded across the main hall, out the door, and down the stone steps into the garden.

The garden was one of Draco's favourite things about the Manor. Dark green hedges lined the wide gravel walk up to the entrance. On either side of the walk, there was an enclosed garden of evergreens, clipped bushes, and an old stone fountain. The pattern of mini enclosed gardens continued around the perimeter of the mansion. The gently rolling hills of the Wiltshire countryside, covered in swatches of trees and hazy fog, were barely visible past the neat maze of rectangular hedges. Draco was extremely proud of the land and the mansion. There was not one home in all of England that could put Malfoy Manor to shame.

A high-pitched screech startled Draco out of his admiration of the Manor. He whipped round, only to be greeted by a majestic albino peacock strutting towards him from behind a tall garden hedge.

"Stupid Albert, you big lump, you startled me," Draco snapped, although in reality he was only slightly annoyed.

Albert squawked in reply and ruffled his feathers. The peacock was snowy-white from beak to tail, while atop his head he sported a crown of feathers that bounced every time he bobbed his head. He was Draco's favourite of the Malfoy peafowl, and Draco was Albert's favourite. The arrogant peacock was only willing to be petted by Draco and loved to scare away visitors by chasing them around the property.

Albert squawked again and bent his head towards Draco's robes. It suddenly dawned on Draco what Albert wanted.

"Oh, you want some of this, don't you?"

Draco pulled a chunk of bread out of his pocket, and Albert made a joyful noise in the back of his throat. Draco tossed him the bread as Victoria and Elizabeth strutted around the garden hedge to join them. As soon as Albert swallowed the treat, he hopped towards the two peahens and unleashed his snowy plume of tail feathers with a loud squawk. Draco rolled his eyes and left Albert to his attempt to impress the ladies.

Draco straddled his broom and pushed off into the air. He laughed as the wind whipped in his face and the world grew smaller below him. Nothing was quite like flying. His lifelong dream was to become a famous Quidditch player. He didn't really care which team he played for, so long as they were a winning one. However, Draco also wanted to be just like his father. At any rate, he knew that with how wealthy his family was, he would never have to work a day in his life. Sometimes it sounded like a lovely future, but other days it sounded like quite a bore.

Another thing Draco enjoyed about flying was that it was a solitary activity, one where he could get away from his parents and the house-elves and take some time to breathe. The fresh air of the Wiltshire countryside brought much-needed colour to his pale cheeks, and flying far above everything else gave him time to think.

Sometimes he imagined that he was a world-renowned Seeker diving for the Golden Snitch to win the game, or that he was fighting a dragon to the screams of an adoring crowd afraid of losing its hero. Other days, Draco wondered what Hogwarts was like. His parents spoke fondly of Hogwarts when he asked them about their time there. They described the Slytherin house in all its glory, reminisced about falling in love, and insulted the other houses. As he flew, Draco imagined becoming a prefect, a famous Slytherin Seeker, and someone whom his peers feared and teachers loved. He couldn't wait to bring honour and glory to Slytherin and fame for himself, of course.

All too soon, Draco heard his mother calling and landed reluctantly for breakfast. His only consolation was that they were about to visit Diagon Alley for his school supplies. As he ate, sitting with his mother and father and being waited on by house-elves, Draco felt his excitement growing. His future at Hogwarts was finally becoming real.

After what felt like an eternity, Lucius rose from the table and walked to the fireplace. The fireplace had a beautifully-carved marble mantelpiece. Above it hung an intricate gilded mirror. Narcissa joined her husband, and Draco followed her as Lucius lifted an ornate jar off the mantelpiece and opened it to reveal Floo Powder.

"Are we going straight to Diagon Alley?" Draco asked earnestly.

Part of him hoped that they were, but the other part of him wanted to see where his father always disappeared off to during their shopping trips.

"Today we are, yes," Lucius replied with a glint in his eye, not oblivious to his son's intentions. "However, someday I will take you with me elsewhere. Diagon Alley is not the only place in England to buy and sell wizarding goods."

Lucius threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the fire, turning it bright green.

"Diagon Alley!" he said, before stepping into the flames and vanishing from sight.

Narcissa took Draco's hand protectively. "Ready?"

At his nod, she threw another pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace.

"Diagon Alley!"

Then they stepped into the fireplace and were engulfed in green flames, spinning their way towards wizarding London.


	2. Chapter 2: Diagon Alley

**~ CHAPTER TWO: DIAGON ALLEY ~**

The Malfoys stepped out of the brick fireplace and into the Leaky Cauldron, a dingy pub that made Draco's nose crinkle in disgust. He knew his father didn't care for the joint, but it was an unfortunate stop between the Manor and Diagon Alley. In particular, his father complained about the impure-blooded wizards that occupied the tables and how much he disliked the old bartender, Tom. Tom reminded Draco of a toothless walnut.

As they strode past the bar towards the lot behind the pub, the bartender tipped his head respectfully in their direction. "Good morning, Mr Malfoy, sir."

Lucius nodded stiffly in return, not deigning to make a reply.

Outside the Leaky Cauldron, the Malfoys found themselves in a small, walled courtyard filled with overgrown weeds and an overflowing rubbish bin. Lucius tapped a brick to the right of the bin with his walking stick. The brick wriggled before a small hole appeared, growing until it became an archway that the Malfoys stepped through into Diagon Alley. The archway quickly became a wall again as they headed down the busy street.

Although Draco had been to Diagon Alley plenty of times before, it never got old. The cobbled street wound this way and that until it turned out of sight, lined with shops of all sizes, shapes, and colours. Draco's favourite was Quality Quidditch Supplies. He loved walking through the shop and examining the newest models of broomsticks. Today was no exception. When they reached the shop, Draco strode up to the window and gazed eagerly at the brand-new Nimbus Two Thousands on display.

"Look, Father," he exclaimed. "They're the fastest racing brooms ever made! Can we at least go inside to look at them? Pllleeeeasse?"

Lucius let out a deep sigh. "We can _look_ at them when we're done shopping for everything else, yes."

Taking his father's answer as a temporary win, Draco took his Hogwarts letter out of his pocket and unfolded the list of school supplies. Lucius took the list from his son and shooed him away from the display window.

"Go to Madam Malkin's and buy your school robes. I'm going to get your books, and your mother is going to scout for wands."

Draco sighed. "Yes, Father."

After one last longing look at the brooms, Draco walked down the street and into the robe shop. It was dim except for the sunlight streaming through the front windows. Robe displays of every colour were set up across the shop. Draco reached over to touch an emerald-green robe. It was incredibly silky between his fingers and made him wish momentarily that Hogwarts students were allowed to wear robes in colours other than black.

As he moved onto another display that held robes of royal gold, purple, and silver, a squat witch dressed in mauve robes approached him. Draco recognised her as Madam Malkin.

"School, dear?" she asked cheerfully.

"Hogwarts," he said curtly.

"Alright then, come on over here and Madam Tesdall will get you fitted."

Draco followed her to the back of the shop and mounted a stool in front of another witch, whom he assumed was Madam Tesdall. The witch pulled a black robe over his head and began to fit it to the right length.

Draco was bored by the whole business until he saw Madam Malkin ushering another boy towards the stool next to him. Draco gathered his first impressions of the newcomer out of the corner of his eye. The boy was about his age, small, dark, and skinny, with a thin face and overly large clothes. The boy's hair was a mess of jet-black curls, which he unsuccessfully tried to flatten as Madam Malkin helped him onto the stool. He also wore round glasses covered in tape, which Draco noticed with slight contempt — why hadn't the boy's parents just fixed with them magic? Nonetheless, Draco knew it was never too early to start making potential allies, so he extended the first greeting he could think of:

« Hello. Hogwarts, too? »

« Yes, » the boy said as Madam Malkin began pinning long black robes on him.

« My father's next door buying my books and Mother's up the street looking at wands, » Draco said, hoping to start a conversation and impress him at the same time. « Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully Father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow. » When he didn't respond, Draco pressed on, « Have _you_ got your own broom? »

« No, » the boy said.

« Play Quidditch at all? »

« No. »

A sense of superiority washed over Draco. He suppressed a smirk. He had already known he would be the best flyer out of all the first years, but he hadn't suspected that he would meet anyone who didn't play Quidditch besides Mudbloods, and they didn't count.

« _I_ do — Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet? »

« No, » the boy said again.

« Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, » Draco conceded, « but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — » Then, struck by an amusing thought, he added, « Imagine being in Hufflepuff! I think I'd leave, wouldn't you? »

However, Draco missed the boy's response, as he was suddenly distracted by movement outside the shop window. A huge man was standing on the other side of the glass, grinning at the boys and motioning to two large ice-creams in his hands. Draco had never seen anything like him in his life. He was at least twice the size of a normal wizard, with a bushy beard and wild hair that made it almost impossible to see his face.

« I say, look at that man! » Draco said, nodding towards the front window.

« That's Hagrid, » the boy said. « He works at Hogwarts. »

« Oh, I've heard of him, » Draco said. « He's a sort of servant, isn't he? »

« He's the gamekeeper. »

Draco glanced over at him, pleased to hear that the boy had some knowledge of Hogwarts, even if he didn't seem particularly interested in Quidditch. For the first time, Draco noticed the way the sunlight illuminated his green eyes. _Kind of like the emeralds in one of Father's Dark artefacts,_ he found himself thinking.

« Yes, exactly, » Draco said, trying not to sound too eager. « I heard he's a sort of _savage_ — lives in a hut on the school grounds, and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed. »

« I think he's brilliant, » said the boy.

« _Do_ you? » Draco couldn't keep the sneer out of his voice. « Why is he with you? Where are your parents? »

« They're dead. »

In all honesty, Draco couldn't have cared less.

« Oh, sorry, » he said, not sorry at all. « But they were _our_ kind, weren't they? »

« They were a witch and a wizard, if that's what you mean. »

Draco was satisfied with his response.

« I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? » he said, a smirk gracing his pale face. « They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, can you imagine? I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. » Suddenly, it dawned on him that he didn't know if this boy's family was part of the Sacred Twenty-eight. « Hey, what's your surname, anyway? »

But then Madam Malkin patted the boy on the back and said, « That's you done, my dear, » and the boy hopped down from the stool with his new robes. Draco was slightly disappointed in the turn of events, though he was unwilling to show it. He hadn't wanted the conversation to end so soon. Hopefully, he had at least made a respectable first impression and a potential ally for when school started.

« Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose, » Draco drawled.

The boy nodded. Draco watched him meet the giant outside of the shop and walk down the street until they were out of sight.

A few minutes later, Madam Tesdall announced that Draco was finished and handed him a large stack of new work robes, plus a heavier winter robe, neatly folded and stacked on top of each other.

« There you go, my dear, » she said cheerfully.

Draco dug into his robes pocket and handed the witch the required tender before he left the shop. His father was waiting outside of Flourish and Blotts and holding a satchel stuffed with books. Draco's mood lifted. He loved new books with their crisp spines and untouched pages. He couldn't wait to get home and read them cover to cover — not that he would admit it aloud. He would deny it vehemently if anyone found out that he enjoyed reading everything he could put his hands on, including textbooks and assigned readings.

Draco added his robes to the satchel and accompanied his father to Twilfitt and Tattings to get his dragon-hide work gloves and black pointed hat. Next, they headed down the busy street to meet up with his mother, who had gone to look at wands.

The shop did not look like Draco expected, given the general hype over the superior quality of Ollivander wands. It was a nondescript building with the words _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC_ in peeling gold letters over the door. The tiny window revealed a single wand on a faded purple cushion. Altogether, the shop was rather small and shabby. Draco wrinkled his nose and glanced at his father, but Lucius's face was unreadable as he strode up to the door. Draco followed him inside as a bell tinkled from somewhere within the shop.

The inside was tiny as well. His mother Narcissa was sitting in a small chair in the middle of the room waiting for them. Thousands of small rectangular boxes adorned the walls, stacked in neat piles. There was a thin layer of dust upon everything. Draco couldn't help but feel a bit confused that his parents had decided to buy him a wand from this shop. The Malfoys normally frequented places that were cleaner, larger, and altogether more upper-class.

"Good morning, Mr Malfoy, Mrs Malfoy."

The soft voice came as a surprise to Draco, whose heart jumped momentarily in his chest, but his parents were unfazed. An old man, his wide, pale eyes fixed upon them, had materialised a few feet away.

"Hello, Ollivander." Lucius gave him a curt nod.

"Ah, yes, Lucius. It has been a long time since I last saw you, has it not?" It must have been a rhetorical question, as Mr Ollivander continued speaking. "Eighteen inches, elm, dragon heartstring. An excellent duelling wand, although unyielding. Quite the unusual length, I might add. One of the longest I've ever sold. And of course, the lovely Narcissa."

Mr Ollivander moved towards Narcissa, taking her hand in his and giving it a kiss. His grey eyes were fixed upon her face. Draco wished he wouldn't, because it made him uncomfortable. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a muscle working in his father's jaw.

Mr Ollivander let go of Narcissa's hand but kept his eyes on her.

"Your current wand is twelve and a quarter inches, ebony, and rather stiff, no? Well-suited for combative magic and Transfiguration. I remember it as if it were yesterday."

Mr Ollivander fixed his strange, misty eyes on Draco next, who fought the urge to fidget or look away.

"Ah, Mr Draco Malfoy. How great to finally meet you, my boy. You look just like your father. Let's see if we can fix you up with a wand, shall we? Which is your wand arm?"

Draco held out his right arm, bewildered that this old man was the famous wandmaker everyone spoke of so highly. Mr Ollivander pulled out a tape measure. Then, letting go of it in mid-air, he turned and strolled down the stacks of wands. As he pulled boxes from the shelves, the tape measure took Draco's measurements of its own accord: shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, knee to armpit, between his nostrils, around his head...

"Alright, thank you," Mr Ollivander said, "that will do." The tape measure shook before dropping to the floor with a small thump.

Mr Ollivander swept towards Draco with a pile of boxes in his arms.

"How about we try these, hmm?" He whipped a wand out of the first box and held it out to him. "Acacia and dragon heartstring, twelve inches, stiff. Unusual wand wood, but it might work well for you."

Draco took it from him and went to wave it, but Mr Ollivander snatched it back almost at once, holding out a new wand of a similar colour. "How about walnut and phoenix feather, that's a unique combination. Nine inches and supple. Go on, try it out."

Draco tried this one as well, but nothing happened. Mr Ollivander continued to take away unresponsive wands and hand him new ones, talking the entire time. Draco wished he wouldn't talk so much. It was making him more anxious as the used wands piled up in the corner.

"Hmm...try this one, chestnut with dragon heartstring, ten and a quarter inches and stiff. No, no, no...maybe this one? It's blackthorn and dragon heartstring, eleven inches exactly, slightly bendy. Ah, no, okay, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. No? I wonder if this elm one over here would suffice..."

"What's taking so long?" Lucius interrupted as Draco waved a willow wand in the air, feeling foolish. "Why hasn't he found a responsive wand yet?"

Mr Ollivander snatched the wand away from Draco and replaced it with one of red oak that wielded the same lack of response.

"Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic, Lucius," he replied lightly. "And you must remember, the wand chooses the wizard. It just takes a few tries."

"A _few?_ " Lucius drew himself up to full height, and suddenly Mr Ollivander looked nervous. "Surely you would agree with me that it has been more than a _few_ tries. I would hate to take my business elsewhere, but you know I will if necessary."

"Of – of course, Lucius, I would never fault you for that," Mr Ollivander stammered.

The old man looked shaken. Draco was shaken, too. He was confused on why it was taking him so long, since as a pure-blood and a Malfoy, he had figured finding his perfect wand would be easy. And why had his parents had brought him to Ollivanders? Surely there had to be other wandmakers in England besides this creepy old man?

Scooping up a few boxes at random, Mr Ollivander composed himself.

"However, I don't believe that shall be necessary," he said evenly, directing his words at Draco's father. "I have never met a customer for which I could not find the perfect match. I'm sure it is here, we will just have to try something else."

After a few moments of thought, Mr Ollivander picked up a box and pulled out a brown wand with a slightly darker handle. "Yes, yes, perhaps this one...I have an inkling that you will like this one, Mr Malfoy. Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. Won't you have a go?"

The instant that Draco took the wand, he knew something about it was different. Warmth spread through his fingers, and as if by instinct, he gave it a wave. Green, silver, and red sparks lit up the dim shop. Narcissa let out a gasp of happiness and clapped, while Lucius straightened up with pride.

Mr Ollivander smiled in relief. "See? Bravo! How wonderful! I knew you would find it!"

He took the wand from Draco and, placing it back in its box, wrapped it in crinkly brown paper. "There you go, Mr Malfoy," he said, handing it to Draco with a flourish. "May it serve you well."

Lucius stiffly handed Mr Ollivander seven gold Galleons and the wandmaker bowed them from the shop.

"He was rather...odd," Draco said to his mother as they hurried after Lucius, who seemed happy to put as much distance between himself and Mr Ollivander as possible. "Why is he so famous?"

"The Ollivander family is well-known for making the best wands in Europe," Narcissa replied. "He only uses three cores and a small collection of woods, which make his wands stand out from the rest. Despite his... _quirks_ , shall we say...his shop is the only place worth buying a wand." She ruffled his hair lovingly. "Only the best for my little dragon."

Draco smiled and held his wand closer to his chest, basking in his mother's love. He was going to miss his mother dearly when he left for Hogwarts.

The Malfoys' next stop was the Apothecary to buy basic potion ingredients for Draco. The shop smelled horrible, but there was a variety of things to look at while his parents dealt with the boring ingredients. Draco spent his time examining the fangs and claws hanging from the ceiling, as well as the mysterious things floating in pickling liquid in barrels on the floor. He recognised some of the ingredients from watching his parents make potions throughout the years.

Next, they stopped by Scribbulus Writing Implements to buy parchment, ink, and quills. They bought a shiny pewter cauldron at Potage's Cauldron Shop and the rest of his equipment — brass scales, crystal phials, and a collapsible telescope — at Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment. Lastly, the Malfoys headed to look for an owl for Draco.

Eeylops Owl Emporium was a small brick building with cages showcasing different species of owls. The inside was much darker, full of fluttering wings, large blinking eyes, and soft hooting. After inspecting a large snowy owl and a small fluffy screech owl, Draco decided upon a huge eagle owl with round orange eyes. Its feathers were mottled with browns and greys, while its long ears were tufted with feathers. He couldn't keep the grin off his face as he walked out of the shop with his new companion. Now all that was left to do was convince his father to buy him a new broomstick. He was confident he would be able to get what he wanted.

After all, when did Draco's parents ever say no to him?


	3. Chapter 3: The Journey to Hogwarts

**~ CHAPTER THREE: THE JOURNEY TO HOGWARTS ~**

His parents said no to him.

Draco sulked when they got home, but it wasn't much use. Though his mother had seemed willing to buy him a new broom, once Lucius decided that the answer was no, she backed him up. He was very adamant that he didn't want his son in trouble for bringing a racing broom to Hogwarts. It didn't matter what Draco said to try to change his father's mind; once it was set, it was set. However, Draco didn't dwell on it for too long. He was too excited about the upcoming school year to be preoccupied by a broom that he knew he would eventually convince his parents to buy for him.

Draco named his eagle owl Abraxas II, after his grandfather. Not surprisingly, the family's territorial eagle owl Nigellus didn't take kindly to the newcomer encroaching on his territory. So, his parents made him keep Abraxas II in his room, where the owl was free to fly in and out of the window as he wished.

Draco spent the last month of the summer flying on his Comet Two Sixty and reading his new set books. He found all the books interesting, especially _Magical Theory_ , _Magical Drafts and Potions_ , and _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)_. He read his favourites cover to cover while closely skimming the rest. Then he placed them lovingly in his bookshelf where he could reach them until September 1st. Every so often, he pulled out the book of spells to practice, although he was easily frustrated when he encountered any difficulties. He also memorised facts from the potions book.

On the last day of August, Draco packed his things, excitement fluttering in his belly. He put his books, cauldron, scales, telescope, and Quidditch binoculars in one trunk. In another, he placed his robes, parchment and quills, wand, and toiletries, including his hair gel and a jar of Sleekeazy's hair potion. Then he sat on the end of his bed, looking at the trunks and the empty shelves in his room. He couldn't believe this was finally happening. He was nervous, but he tried to squash it with his excitement. After all, what could go wrong?

Draco didn't sleep well and awoke early the next morning. He left his trunks and Abraxas II's cage for Dobby and the other house-elves to carry downstairs. Then he wandered around the mansion impatiently until his parents got up.

The dining room was silent while the Malfoys ate their breakfast. Finally, Lucius cleared his throat. "I presume you have packed everything you need, Draco?"

"Yes, Father."

"If you find you have forgotten something, send an owl and we will get it to you. Talk to the Head of the Slytherin house, Professor Snape, if you have any issues. If there is anything the professors or Headmaster will not solve, leave it to me." Lucius set down his fork and steepled his fingers. "Remember, stay on the good side of the professors. Make allies, but don't befriend everyone, especially not Mudbloods or blood-traitors. It would be beneficial to impress Harry Potter, as well, if you have a chance to meet him. He should be at Hogwarts, he's about your age. And remember the possibility that he could be a Dark wizard in the making. After all, how else could he have killed the Dark Lord? But of course," Lucius added sharply, "these sentiments are not to be expressed outside of our family and friends. You wouldn't want to get us in trouble with the Ministry."

It seemed to Draco as though his father was trying to get in as much advice as possible. He wasn't sure whether to feel annoyed, thankful, nervous, or all three at once. His stomach twisted unwillingly. He put down his fork and pushed back his plate.

"I think I'm full," he muttered.

As if on cue, the house-elves skittered in to clear the plates away and bring in Draco's trunks and owl cage. The Malfoys gathered around the fireplace as Draco tried to squash the nervousness fluttering in his belly.

Lucius put a firm hand on Draco's shoulder. "We're meeting up with the Notts and the Crabbes before you get on the train. Don't forget to take advantage of acquaintances and friends you already have, like Theodore and Vincent."

Narcissa gently squeezed Draco's other shoulder as if she sensed his anxiety. "Don't worry, my little dragon. Everything will be fine, I promise."

Lucius tossed a pinch of Floo Powder into the fireplace, grabbed Draco's trunks, said, "King's Cross, platform nine and three-quarters!" and disappeared into the flames.

Draco picked up Abraxas II's cage, and Narcissa took his free hand. Then they tossed in Floo Powder and stepped into the flames. After an uncomfortable amount of spinning, Draco stumbled out of the fireplace and stopped dead, his eyes widening in awe.

There was so much going on that Draco didn't know where to look first. The sign for the Hogwarts Express hung overhead, while students milled around a huge scarlet steam engine by the platform, saying goodbye to their parents and greeting old friends. The air was filled with the sound of owls hooting, cats meowing, trunks scraping across the ground, squeaky trolley wheels, and magical folk chattering excitedly. Meanwhile, the first few compartments of the train were filling up with students.

Lucius threw Draco's trunks onto a trolley cart and placed Abraxas II's cage on top. Then he strode towards two families waiting off to the side, Draco and Narcissa hurrying after him.

"Nott, Crabbe, good to see you," he said as they approached, nodding to the fathers in turn.

While the adults made polite conversation, Draco was left to talk with the families' sons, Theodore Nott and Vincent Crabbe. He knew them already, as the Malfoys, Notts, and Crabbes ran in the same pure-blood, ex-Death Eater circles. However, he wasn't a huge fan of either of them. He had begrudging respect for Nott, who was at least intelligent, but Crabbe was about as bright as a guttering candle. The only thing Crabbe had going for him was that he was physically imposing. Draco had a good mind to keep him around. Crabbe was extremely large, with a thick neck, gorilla-like arms, and a bowl cut. Nott was stringier in appearance, tall and thin with a rabbit-like face.

After greeting each other, Draco and the boys set off through the crowd with their trolleys, loading one of the middle compartments with their trunks. When they finished, Draco glanced out the window to see that the Goyle family had joined his parents.

The Goyle's son, Gregory, broke off from the adults and lumbered towards them. Draco knew him already, too, for the same reason as Nott and Crabbe. If Crabbe was as bright as a guttering candle, then Goyle was as bright as an unlit candle in a dark cave. He was slightly taller than Crabbe, with broad shoulders, long burly arms, and short bristly hair. Draco considered keeping Goyle around for the same reason as Crabbe: they were perfect bodyguards because of their size, and perfect henchmen because they were too stupid to think for themselves.

Once the trunks were settled, the boys descended the train to say goodbye to their parents. Narcissa must have noticed Draco's hesitance to say goodbye, for she immediately scooped him up into a huge, albeit embarrassing, hug and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

"Mother!" he protested, wriggling away from her, although he was secretly pleased.

"Oh, do be careful, Draco," Narcissa said, pulling away and looking at her boy with a proud but worried expression. "Watch out for yourself, be a good boy, and write home as often as you can. Your father and I will send loads of owls."

"I'll be fine, Mother, I promise," Draco said, although he wasn't sure exactly who he was trying to convince.

Lucius placed a hand on Draco's shoulder and gave it squeeze. "Have a good term," he said gruffly. "Don't get into too much trouble and remember everything I said. I'm expecting great things from you."

Draco swallowed, attempting to rid his throat of the lump that had formed there. "Yes, Father. I'll write home often."

Draco mounted the train and leaned out the compartment window. A whistle sounded at the front of the train, and the crowd began to thin as students hurried to get on the train. They hung out of the windows, frantically finishing their farewells, while some of the younger siblings began to cry.

The train began to move. His last sight of his parents was them standing next to Nott's father and waving goodbye, Lucius's free arm around Narcissa's shoulder. Then the train rounded a corner and they were gone.

The boys changed into their Hogwarts robes right away. As the Hogwarts Express carried them out of London and past fields of grazing cows and sheep, they told each other about their summers. Draco was in the middle of a long story involving him escaping on broomstick from a Muggle flying machine when a cheerful witch with a trolley cart opened the compartment door.

"Anything off the cart, dears?"

Draco got up, strategically flashing his large pouch of gold at the other boys before buying handfuls of Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, and Cauldron Cakes. Crabbe bought some of everything on the cart, while Nott declined the offer and Goyle mooched off the pile that Crabbe brought back.

The compartment fell silent as the boys ate their food. Crabbe finished first, although he had by far the most to eat, and fell asleep quickly. He snored loudly, and his mouth hung open in a very unflattering manner. Nott muttered something about wanting peace and quiet. Picking up a book, he left the compartment. That left Draco and Goyle to sit in relative silence, besides Crabbe's snoring, and watch the countryside go by. As the hours passed, the scenery turned from neat fields to woods, rivers, and rolling hills. Draco was close to dozing off from boredom when the compartment door slid open and Nott came in, followed by a girl. The two of them were so loud that Crabbe and Goyle woke up.

"Malfoy, you'll never guess what I just heard!" Nott exclaimed.

Draco yawned and stretched slowly. "What is it?"

"It's Harry Potter! They say he's on this train!"

Draco bolted upright in his seat. "What? Harry Potter?"

Try as he might, Draco couldn't hide the shock and excitement he felt from creeping into his voice.

"Yeah, I've heard he's in the third to last compartment at the back," said the girl behind Nott. "I wonder if he really has the scar?"

Draco beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle.

"I want to see if it's really him," he said quietly as they leaned in. "Father said I should get to know him, anyway." A thrill went through Draco. If Harry Potter was a Dark wizard in the making like his father hoped, this could be his chance to offer Potter his friendship and gain a valuable ally in return. "Let's go."

With Crabbe and Goyle flanking him, Draco stood up and made his way down the train. With every step, he could feel his excitement growing, though he made sure to mimic his father's air of indifference. This was his chance to finally meet the boy who was so strong that he defeated the Dark Lord, whom nobody else could vanquish! Oh, wait until he could write home and tell Father that he was friends with the Boy Who Lived! He almost felt nervous, although he squashed it by snapping at Crabbe to stop dragging his feet because the sound was giving him a headache.

After what felt like an eternity, they reached the rumoured compartment. Draco stopped for a moment to straighten his robes and glance at himself in the reflective glass of the compartment door. _I have nothing to worry about_ , he told himself sternly, and he could feel the instant relaxing effect of those words. He was right, of course; his reflection smiled back at him as he composed himself. Why wouldn't Potter want to be his friend? Draco had much to offer: money, prestige, power...what more could the boy want? Pushing his anxiety to the back of his mind, Draco motioned to Crabbe and Goyle and slid open the compartment door.

To his surprise, his eyes landed on the boy he had met at Madam Malkin's, who was sitting with a tall, gangling boy with bright red hair and lots of freckles. They were surrounded by treats from the trolley witch. Their trunks were tucked in the corner of the compartment. Draco didn't hide his interest as he looked Potter up and down, from his Muggle clothes and the crooked glasses perched upon his nose, to the mop of black curls covering his forehead and his green eyes behind slightly scratched lenses.

« Is it true? » Draco said, ignoring the redhead completely. « They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it? »

« Yes, » said the boy from Madam Malkin's, eyeing Draco's friends nervously.

Draco felt a surge of satisfaction. He had chosen his new allies well if they elicited such a response from the Boy Who Lived.

« Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle, » he said as carelessly as he could, gesturing to each in turn. « And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy. »

The redheaded boy let out a cough that couldn't disguise his snicker. Draco felt a pang of indignation and anger before it dawned on him that he must be a relation of the Weasley family. It would certainly explain the red hair and general appearance of malnourishment. However, the real question was why Potter was hanging out with a blood-traitor.

« Think my name's funny, do you? » Draco said coldly, deigning to look at the redhead for the first time. « No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford. »

Draco knew he had hit his mark by the way the boy's face turned maroon. Turning back to Potter, he said confidently, « You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there. »

He held out his hand.

But Potter didn't take it. Instead, he raised his chin and said coolly, « I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks. »

Inside, Draco was reeling from shock, but he chomped on his tongue and willed himself to stay calm as heat spread across his cheeks. Was Potter really refusing his offer? How could he prefer the company of a _Weasley_ over a Malfoy? He had done everything exactly the way his father would have, so why was everything going so wrong? He had to fix this somehow.

What would his father do?

Choosing his words deliberately, Draco said slowly, « I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Unless you're a bit politer you'll go the same way as your parents. They didn't know what was good for them, either. You hang around with riffraff like the Weasleys and that Hagrid, and it'll rub off on you. »

It had the wrong effect. Potter and Weasley were on their feet in an instant.

« Say that again, » Weasley said, his face turning redder than his hair.

« Oh, you're going to fight us, are you? » Draco sneered, hoping the boys couldn't tell that his heart rate was rapidly accelerating. Thank Merlin he had Crabbe and Goyle with him; he'd been right in assuming they'd be useful.

« Unless you get out now, » Potter said. Draco was surprised by how brave he sounded.

« But we don't feel like leaving, do we, boys? » Draco glanced towards his allies, silently begging them to do something. « We've eaten all our food and you still seem to have some. »

Goyle chuckled and reached for the pile of Chocolate Frogs. Weasley moved to intercept him, but before he could, Goyle yelled loudly and held up his hand, his eyes watering. A fat grey rat with patchy fur had sunk its sharp little teeth into one of Goyle's knuckles.

 _Oh, gross!_ Draco thought, his stomach lurching. _There are rats on this train?!_

Horrified and disgusted, Draco backed away, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Crabbe was doing the same. Howling with pain and fear, Goyle swung his arm round and round until the rat flew off and hit the darkening window with a thud. Then Draco turned and fled. Crabbe and Goyle followed suit, Goyle cradling his bloody hand and whimpering. They passed a girl with bushy brown hair on her way to Potter's compartment, but they didn't linger long enough for Draco to see any more of her.

"Stupid Potter," he muttered as they weaved through students pulling on their robes. "He must think he's hot stuff with his stupid scar, already friends with that stupid Weasley. Did you see his glasses?" he added in a louder voice to Crabbe and Goyle, trying to sound condescending, instead of completely rattled and miffed by the rejection. "Not even properly repaired with magic."

Crabbe and Goyle murmured their agreements, but this almost irritated Draco more. He could already tell that while having the two of them around would be beneficial, they weren't anywhere close to having the intellectual prowess to become his true friends. What he wanted was an intellectual equal, someone who he could have a connection with like he did his family. What he had wanted was Potter's friendship, but it was apparent that he had somehow screwed up. Draco had been given a chance to befriend him, and he'd failed.

Draco gritted his teeth together as he reached his compartment. No, he couldn't think of it like that. He had been the one to give Potter a chance, and it was Potter who hadn't taken it. He was nothing like he had imagined. It infuriated him to his core. Draco had dreamed of becoming his friend off and on for years, and Potter had dashed his dream to pieces in a few seconds. Who did he think he was, acting as if he had things all figured out? Well, Draco would show him. The Boy Who Lived was going to sorely regret that he had ever rejected Draco Malfoy.

"So? Did you meet him? Does he really have the scar?"

The girl who had come in with Nott was waiting for them, perched on the edge of her seat. Draco eyed the girl hesitantly. She had dark hair cropped into a bob and what looked like brown eyes in the quickly darkening compartment. He could feel everyone's eyes on him. What was he supposed to do? The last thing he wanted was to admit that Potter had rejected his offer of friendship after only minutes of conversation, and for a blood-traitor, no less. He was still reeling from what had happened and having trouble processing it. He opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, when the train intercom clicked on and saved him.

« We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, as it will be taken to the school separately. »

"Oh, look at that," Draco said. "We're here."

Turning away, he followed the crowd of students flocking to the front of the train with Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott in tow. As the students gathered together, the train slowed to a stop. Students pushed their way out of the train and stood in little groups on the platform, shivering in the chilly night air. Draco allowed himself to be pushed along with the crowd across the platform and out of the station onto a winding village road. It was very dark, but Draco thought he could make out the forms of mountains in the distance.

Suddenly, a bright light came bobbing towards them.

« Firs' years! Firs' years over here! »

The lantern turned towards Draco, and to his surprise, it was held by the giant that he had seen during his trip to Diagon Alley.

« C'mon, follow me — any more firs' years? » Hagrid boomed. « Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me! »

With a glance at Nott, Draco reluctantly followed the stream of first years traipsing after the giant brute. He didn't want to be told what to do by something like Hagrid, but he supposed he didn't have a choice. Hagrid led the first years off the paved road and down a narrow dirt trail, flattened from years of travel. It was so dark on either side of the path that Draco feared there were woods full of horrible beasts surrounding them. He made sure to stay very close to Crabbe and Goyle, his heartbeat quickening at every odd sound. It didn't help that no one was talking, so it was quiet enough to hear the rustling of hungry creatures in the darkness.

« Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec, jus' round this bend here, » Hagrid called from the front of the pack.

As the path opened up, Draco gasped in awe. In front of them stretched a great black lake glittering with starlight. High above their heads and on the other side of the lake, the majestic Hogwarts castle stretched up to touch the sky. It had dozens of elaborate turrets and towers, its windows glowing with warm yellow lamplight. Its beauty took Draco's breath away.

« No more'n four to a boat! » Hagrid said, interrupting Draco's reverie.

He was pointing to the edge of the lake, where a fleet of little boats waited by the shore. Hagrid took up an entire boat by himself, while Draco was joined in his boat by Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott.

« Everyone in? » Hagrid said. « Right then — FORWARD! »

The boats followed his command. The students gazed in awe at the approaching castle as the boats glided across the lake. The castle stood on a cliff, and it appeared that they were sailing directly to the cliff face. Draco's boat was one of the first in line. As they approached the cliff, Hagrid yelled, « Heads down! »

Confused, the boys complied. The boats sailed through ivy that Draco had thought was covering stone and entered a dark tunnel. Draco wondered if they were traveling underneath the castle. Soon, the boats reached a rocky underground harbour, where everyone scrambled out and looked around while Hagrid checked the boats.

« Oy, you there! » said Hagrid, pointing to a short blond boy with a round face. He held up something squishy and wriggling. « Is this your toad? »

Draco snorted as the boy exclaimed, « Trevor! » and held out his hands, looking far too happy to have his toad back.

The first years followed Hagrid up a passageway in the rock that was narrow enough to make Draco feel claustrophobic. Eventually, they came out at the top of the cliff in the smooth, damp grass in the shadow of the castle. They followed Hagrid out of the grass and up a grand flight of stone steps that led to a majestic oak door. The door was so huge that even Hagrid could've fit through it without ducking. Suddenly, Draco felt nervous again.

Hagrid turned towards the first years.

« Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad? »

After receiving an affirmative answer, Hagrid raised one of his huge hands and rapped on the door three times. Draco took in a deep breath.

This was it. His time at Hogwarts was finally beginning.


	4. Chapter 4: The Sorting

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Since I know readers might ask about this, my description of the Slytherin common room is similar to the description given in Ch. 12 of _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_ , but with minor alterations. For example, _Chamber of Secrets_ doesn't mention that the Slytherin common room is under the lake. The only book detail I can find on that is Harry's comment to the Snatchers in Ch. 23 of _Deathly Hallows_ , which was written after the movie franchise started. Consequently, I left that out, although I may consider adding it in the future. Everything else (the carved torch sconces, the layout of the dormitories, etc.) was created by me and is original work.

Also, for the savvy readers who will inevitably count the number of students in each house and say, "Wait a minute, Avery, some houses got more or less than five girls and five boys! What gives?", I have always found it unrealistic that every house would get exactly five girls and five boys each year, since house placement is determined by personality, not room availability. So, in addition to a handful of OCs (Jeong, one of MacDougal twins, Newton, Song, and Stern), there are slightly different numbers of students in each house. Enjoy!

* * *

 **~ CHAPTER FOUR: THE SORTING ~**

As soon as Hagrid finished knocking, the door swung open to reveal a tall witch with her lips drawn taut in a stern expression. She was wearing square-rimmed glasses, emerald green robes, and a pointed black hat. Draco shifted uncomfortably as her eyes grazed over the first years. Had her eyes briefly lingered on him and hardened, or had he imagined it?

« The firs' years, Professor McGonagall, » Hagrid said, seemingly unbothered by the witch's demeanour. Draco wondered if she was always like this.

« Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here. »

Turning on her heel, Professor McGonagall disappeared into the castle, not waiting for the first years. The students hurried after her. Regardless of how grand the Manor was, Draco was in awe of Hogwarts already. The entrance hall was at least twice the size of the Malfoys' main hall, with a ceiling so high it was lost in darkness. Flaming torches sat in sconces along the walls and the floor was made of smooth flagged stone, while around two dozen doors led off to chambers on either side of the hall. Facing them a few hundred feet away, a wide marble staircase led to the upper floors, shrouded in darkness.

Professor McGonagall didn't stop to let the first years ogle at their surroundings. She passed a double doorway to the right where Draco assumed the rest of the students were, given the amount of noise coming from it, and instead opted for a single doorway on the opposite side of the hall, which opened into a small empty chamber. As soon as the first years had crowded in, she launched into a quick speech.

« Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. »

She paused, her eagle-like eyes raking across the first years, before continuing. « The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. »

Draco was quick to notice that Professor McGonagall's eyes lingered on more than one first year after her last statement. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his robes, hoping that his hair was as neat as it had been on the train.

« I shall return when we are ready for you, » said Professor McGonagall. « Please wait quietly. »

With that, she left the chamber. Whispering broke out amongst the first years immediately. _Which house was most desirable? How were students sorted, exactly? Would they need any spells or prior knowledge of magic to be sorted? Did it happen in front of the entire school or individually in a separate room?_ The questions were coming from students farther away; Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid to wonder about anything except for when they would eat next. One girl was whispering frantically about all the spells she already knew and which ones she thought were most likely to be used. Draco noticed with amusement that she was making the students around her more nervous — not that he was nervous or anything. He quickly tried to squash the anxiety in his stomach.

Suddenly, a few students screamed, causing Draco to start and turn around. He was met with the sight of over a dozen pearly-white ghosts streaming through the chamber wall, arguing amongst themselves.

A short fat monk with a jolly face was speaking, sounding as though he was trying to keep his calm. « Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance — »

A ghost wearing an Elizabethan white ruff and dark tights interrupted him. « My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not even really a ghost — » Suddenly, he stopped and noticed the first years, who were looking up at the ghosts with huge eyes. « I say, what are you all doing here? »

Silence greeted his question.

« New students! » exclaimed the Fat Friar, beaming down at them. « About to be sorted, I suppose? »

Draco avoided eye contact with the ghosts, but he noticed a few students nodding in response.

The Friar nodded back, bobbing up and down slightly as he did so. « Hope to see you in Hufflepuff! My old house, you know. »

Draco shuddered inwardly. He would die before he would willingly be sorted into Hufflepuff. Just then, the chamber door swung open.

« Move along now, » Professor McGonagall said sharply to the ghosts. « The Sorting Ceremony is about to start. »

Resuming their argument about Peeves, whoever (or whatever) that was, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

Professor McGonagall turned to the first years. « Now, form a line and follow me. »

Draco fell into line with Nott in front of him and Crabbe and Goyle behind him. The students followed Professor McGonagall to the pair of double doors they had passed earlier and into the Great Hall.

Draco's breath caught in his throat. Four long tables stretched before them. Floating above the tables, thousands of flickering candles illuminated the hall, and far above everything else was the starry ceiling. It looked as though it opened into the heavens. At the top of the hall was another long table, where all the professors except for Professor McGonagall were sitting. In the middle, Draco recognised the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, sitting in a large gold chair and watching the first years intently over his steepled fingers. Near the end of the table, he saw the Head of the Slytherin house, Professor Severus Snape.

As the first years entered, the chatter died down. Hundreds of faces, pale in the flickering candlelight, turned towards them. Draco felt a surge of nervousness. The scrutiny from the other students continued as the first years followed Professor McGonagall to the area in front of the professors' High Table. Draco barely had time to notice that the ghosts had joined the feast before Professor McGonagall placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years and topped it with a pointed hat, frayed, dirty, and worn from age.

The chatter fell from a low rumble to silence in seconds. Draco followed everyone's gaze to the hat. Suddenly, the hat twitched and broke out into song, describing the traits of each house and how it would decide where each student should be. As soon as the hat was finished singing, the hall broke out into loud applause. The hat bowed to each table in turn before becoming silent and still again. While the other first years around him shifted uneasily, Draco felt his nervousness subside. Trying on a stupid old hat was much easier than showing off the spells he'd already learned in front of the entire school. He felt relieved. After all, his sorting was a done deal: all of his family had been in Slytherin, so he knew he would be, too.

Professor McGonagall pulled out a long roll of parchment. « When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted. Abbott, Hannah! »

A girl with blonde pigtails stumbled to the stool and put the hat on her head, which was so big it fell over her eyes. There was only a moment's pause before the hat twitched and shouted, « HUFFLEPUFF! »

The table second from the right cheered and clapped, greeting Hannah as she went over to the Hufflepuff table and sat down.

« Bones, Susan! »

Once again, the hat shouted, « HUFFLEPUFF! »

« Boot, Terry! »

« RAVENCLAW! »

This time, the table second from the left cheered and clapped, greeting Boot with warm smiles and handshakes.

« Brocklehurst, Mandy! »

"RAVENCLAW!"

« Brown, Lavender! »

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The table on the far left exploded into rambunctious cheers upon receiving their first new student. Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste; of course the Gryffindor table would try to outdo the other houses in how loud they could cheer. They always had to try to be better than everyone else.

« Bulstrode, Millicent! »

"SLYTHERIN!"

Draco felt a surge of excitement as the table on the far right cheered and clapped. He couldn't wait until he was sitting over there with them.

"Corner, Michael!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Crabbe, Vincent!"

Crabbe lumbered forwards and sat down on the stool. It creaked dangerously under his weight as he settled the hat on his head. After several seconds of deliberation, the hat shouted,

"SLYTHERIN!"

As Crabbe lumbered off to sit at the Slytherin table, Draco made a mental note of where he was sitting so that he could join him after his sorting.

"Davis, Tracey!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

« Finch-Fletchley, Justin! »

« HUFFLEPUFF! »

« Finnigan, Seamus! »

This time, the hat took almost a minute to deliberate before it shouted,

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Goldstein, Anthony!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Goyle, Gregory!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

A sudden horrible thought struck Draco as Goyle lumbered off to sit at the Slytherin table. What if he wasn't sorted into Slytherin? No, it couldn't happen. It wasn't possible. He quickly pushed the thought away.

« Granger, Hermione! »

The girl scurrying up to the stool was the same girl who had been muttering spells under her breath in the other chamber. After a look at her bushy hair and brown skin, Draco decided she was also the same girl he'd passed while leaving Potter's compartment on train. However, he didn't want to think about Potter. Instead, he watched the girl jam the hat eagerly on her head.

« GRYFFINDOR! » the hat shouted.

Draco felt a twinge of disappointment. The girl seemed clever and pretty; part of him had hoped she would end up in Slytherin with him. However, he supposed that if she wasn't sorted into Slytherin, it must've been for a good reason. Perhaps she wasn't a pure-blood?

"Greengrass, Daphne!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Hopkins, Wayne!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Jeong, Esther!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Jones, Megan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Li, Sue!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Longbottom, Neville!"

The boy who had lost his toad stepped out of line and promptly fell on his face. Draco snickered at the boy's misfortune as he scrambled to get up and sit on the stool. The hat took forever to decide where to place him. Draco was almost convinced that the poor dunderhead would be placed in Hufflepuff when the hat finally shouted,

« GRYFFINDOR! »

Neville ran to the Gryffindor table but forgot to take off the hat. By the time he realised his mistake and jogged back to hand it to Irvin MacDougal (who was sorted into Ravenclaw, along with his twin sister, Morag), the entire hall was laughing. He sat down at the Gryffindor table, his face beet red.

"Macmillan, Ernest!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Malfoy, Draco!"

A surge of nervousness shot through his veins at the sound of his name. The fleeting worry that he wouldn't be sorted into Slytherin came back in full force as every head in the Great Hall turned towards him. _Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it,_ he repeated to himself as he faked confidence and swaggered forward to sit down on the stool. However, he barely had time to touch the hat to his head before it shouted,

« SLYTHERIN! »

Pure joy surged through him as the Slytherin table cheered. If it hadn't said Slytherin...but he needn't have worried. Draco took off the hat and put it on the stool before walking to join Crabbe and Goyle. It took everything in him to walk calmly instead of running and jumping like an excited child. He was slapped on the back by a few Slytherin fifth years and congratulated by a few third years before he sat down between Crabbe and Goyle and looked up at the Sorting, a satisfied smirk lingering on his pale face.

"Moon, Liliane!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Newton, Alfred!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Nott, Theodore!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Parkinson, Pansy!"

The girl that had been with Nott on the train flounced forward confidently. The hat had barely touched her head before it decided, "SLYTHERIN!"

"Patil, Padma!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Patil, Parvati!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

« Perks, Sally-Anne! »

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The girl had hardly sat down at the Hufflepuff table before the next name was called.

« Potter, Harry! »

The entire hall broke out into excited whispers as Draco's stomach twisted. He was confused on what to feel. His hopes had been high that he would become friends with Potter, but the rejection of his handshake, coupled with Potter's quick friendship with Hagrid and Weasley, were more than enough to crush his hopes. Draco was still angry and hurt, but his decision about the Boy Who Lived wasn't irreversible. In his mind, everything hinged on where Potter was sorted: if it was Slytherin, maybe he would still have a chance to change the boy's mind. If it was Slytherin, there was still a chance his father was right about Potter being a budding Dark wizard. If it was Slytherin...

Everyone around him was craning their necks to get a better view of Potter, so Draco had to stand up to see him. The boy looked nervous as he sat down on the stool and put on the hat, which fell over his eyes and partially hid his face.

The whispers slowly subsided into silence as the seconds ticked on. It was as if the castle itself was holding its breath, waiting to see which house the Boy Who Lived would call home. Draco watched the boy's lips move without a sound and saw how hard he clutched the edge of the stool.

 _Please let it be Slytherin, please let it be Slytherin..._ Draco found himself thinking, leaning forward as the hat's brim opened wide:

« GRYFFINDOR! »

Disappointment surged through him as the Great Hall erupted in cheers. So he _had_ been wrong about Potter. Anger, frustration, hurt, and jealousy followed his disappointment. Potter was getting the largest ovation yet, and worst of all, the Gryffindors seemed elated. One of the Weasleys stood up and shook his hand vigorously, while two more Weasleys yelled, « We got Potter! We got Potter! » Draco felt sick. The rest of the Slytherin table didn't seem happy, either, but it was little consolation. He hadn't even been at Hogwarts for an entire day and things were already going poorly.

The rest of the Sorting finished quickly, as Draco was preoccupied with glaring at the Gryffindors and wasn't paying attention to the other first years. Matthew Song and Ethel Stern were sorted into Hufflepuff, Dean Thomas and Potter's obnoxious new friend Ron Weasley were sorted into Gryffindor, Lisa Turpin was sorted into Ravenclaw, and Blaise Zabini was the last to be sorted, joining the Slytherin table. Professor McGonagall took away the stool and Sorting Hat as Albus Dumbledore stood up, opening his arms wide.

« Welcome! » said the Headmaster jovially. « Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you! »

The hall erupted into cheers as Dumbledore sat down, but Draco could barely muster up a second of half-hearted clapping, his face scrunched in distaste. He could already see why his father disliked the Headmaster and why he had wanted Draco to go to Durmstrang instead. What kind of a welcome was that?

Draco's stomach growled as the aroma of freshly-cooked dinner hit his nostrils. He tore his eyes away from the High Table to see that the golden dishes on the tables were overflowing with food. The feast almost looked more elaborate than the dinners he was used to back at the Manor, although he would never admit it out loud. His mouth watered as he piled his plate with roast beef and chicken, lamb chops, roast and mashed potatoes, chips, and vegetables.

As he ate as fast as he could without being uncultured, Draco listened to the conversations of the older students around him. The conversations bounced around from how their summers went, to the classes they were looking forward to taking, to their families, to their worries about the upcoming school year and their relationship drama. When he got bored of eavesdropping, he let his eyes wander the Great Hall. Despite the bumps in the road that he had experienced so far, Hogwarts was already beginning to feel like home. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, and the stars across the ceiling twinkled at them fondly.

Draco yawned and pushed away his plate. He wasn't sure if he could eat another bite. However, seconds later, the plates cleared themselves and all manner of desserts appeared. Despite the protesting from his stomach, Draco took a small helping of vanilla ice cream and apple pie and ate it slowly, savouring every bite. He was beginning to feel sleepy.

Finally, the plates cleaned themselves again, and the hall's chatter died as Dumbledore stood up. « Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered, » said the Headmaster.

Draco braced himself for more idiotic utterances, but this time, the old man was making sense.

« I have a few start-of term notices to give you, » Dumbledore said. « First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well. »

Draco followed Dumbledore's twinkling gaze to where it lingered on the Gryffindor table. He snorted. It figured that Gryffindors were the only ones stupid enough to break the rules so frequently.

« I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors, » Dumbledore said. « Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. »

Confused murmurs echoed throughout the hall. Dumbledore clapped his hands together, as if to lighten the mood after his last statement. « And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song! »

The Headmaster flicked his wand and a golden ribbon shot out of its tip, twisting itself into words above the students' heads. He looked as though he was enjoying himself, but Draco noticed that the other teachers didn't look as amused.

« Everyone pick their favourite tune and off we go! » Dumbledore cried.

Draco didn't know what to sing, but he was too sleepy to care. He picked a random tune he had heard his mother singing around the Manor and joined in as the students sang the words hanging in the air. Self-conscious of voice, Draco finished early. He felt vaguely as though his father might disapprove of such an activity, but he reminded himself that his father went to Hogwarts and spoke as fondly of his time there as anyone would. Besides, the rest of the Slytherins were singing, and it wasn't Hogwarts that his father had a problem with — it was Dumbledore and his policies.

Heartened by this thought, Draco listened with amusement to Crabbe and Goyle belt the words to the school song tunelessly. Around him, people were finishing the song at different times. Finally, the Weasley twins were left singing the school song to the tune of a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand. When they finished, everyone in the hall applauded, Dumbledore included.

« Ah, music, » Dumbledore said as he wiped his eyes, whether from happiness or sadness Draco couldn't tell. « A magic beyond what all we do here! And now, bedtime! Off you trot! »

A tall girl with curly hair stood up from the Slytherin table immediately. "First years, follow me!"

The Slytherin first years followed the girl through the bustling crowd and out into the entrance hall, where they broke away from the other students and headed down a different corridor.

"I'm Gemma Farley, by the way, I'm one of the Slytherin prefects," she said over her shoulder as the first years scurried after her. "The Slytherin common room and dormitories are in the dungeon, but don't worry, they're top-notch. Aesthetically-pleasing, regal, the whole deal. Far away from the other houses, too, so that's a plus."

Farley smiled down at them. It wasn't a warm smile, but it was welcoming all the same. "All dorms are split into boys and girls, and are also split up into grade level, so the first years have two dorms, and so do the second years, third years, et cetera. But of course, you'll see that when we get there."

They reached a wide doorway that had stone steps leading down into the darkness. At the bottom of the stairs was a labyrinth of passages, lit by torches in sconces along the walls. Farley strode through the passages confidently, taking a left here, a right there, but Draco found himself worrying that he would become lost trying to find his way to his classes. Finally, Farley stopped in front of a stretch of bare stone that was situated between two mounted torches.

"Here's the entrance to the Slytherin common room and dorms," she said. "It may look like any other stretch of wall down here, but it isn't. If you ever get lost, just look at the sconces where the torches are sitting."

Farley pointed to the sconces on either side of the blank stone wall. Unlike the plain sconces in the main part of the castle, these sconces were made of two intertwined cast-iron snakes, one facing left and the other facing right. One of the snakes had its mouth closed, but the other one was baring its teeth, its tongue out. The open-mouthed snake on each sconce faced the bare stone wall that hid the entrance to the Slytherin quarters, as if pointing to the entrance with their tongues.

"The snakes with their tongues out are always pointing towards the entrance," Farley said. "All of the sconces in the dungeons have them, so if you get lost on your way back to the common room, follow the open-mouthed snakes and they'll eventually lead you here. If you get lost on your way out of the dungeons to your classes, follow the closed-mouthed snakes and you'll reach the stairs leading out of here."

A feeling of relief that he wouldn't be getting lost swept over Draco, as well as a feeling of pride that he was a Slytherin. Salazar Slytherin had thought of everything! He doubted any of the other houses had such a subtle yet clever way of keeping their students from getting lost.

"The entrance is password protected, too," said Farley. "So even if a member of another house managed to find it, they wouldn't be able to get in. _Viridi serpens_ ," she said to the wall.

A bare stone door that had been concealed in the wall slid to the right, revealing a wide archway. Draco and the other first years followed Farley through it, their eyes widening in awe as they entered.

The Slytherin common room was enormous. Round green lamps hung on chains from the stone ceiling. The walls were stone as well, decorated sparsely with swords with elegant handles and pure-blood family crests. Almost directly in front of them, a wide corridor led off to the dorms. On the other end of the room was another entrance to the same corridor; Draco assumed that the corridor curved in some sort of semi-circle and looped back around to the common room. In between the doorways and set into the wall was a fire crackling in a massive fireplace. A sleek black couch sat slightly back from the fire, with a couple of elegant high-backed chairs on either side of it. More high-backed chairs were dispersed throughout the room, as well as opulent coffee tables made of glass and sleek wood, and squashy dark green and silver beanbags.

"I told you it was great," Farley said with relish as she watched the first years' reactions. "Now let's get you off to bed, classes start tomorrow."

Farley led them into the corridor to the dorms. It was wide, with stone walls and a smooth flagged stone floor. It, too, was lit by torches. She stopped at the first door, which had a gold nameplate on it, announcing in all caps, _FIRST YEAR GIRLS' DORMITORY_.

"Here you go, girls," she said. "If you need anything, the older students have their rooms down the corridor and to the right. Good night!"

Farley waited for the girls to enter their dorm room. Then the boys followed her down the corridor, passing the second through fourth year girl rooms before reaching the end of the corridor, which twisted ninety degrees to the right. Draco's assumption turned out to be accurate; they followed the corridor, passing the fifth through seventh year rooms before the corridor twisted to the right again, which led to the fourth through first year boy rooms. The first-year boys' dormitory was nearest to the entrance back into the Slytherin common room. It, too, had a gold nameplate on it, although this one said _FIRST YEAR BOYS' DORMITORY_.

Farley gave them the same short spiel she gave the girls before wishing them good night. Draco pushed open the door and the other boys followed him. The dormitory was much bigger than Draco was expecting, with five four-post canopy beds draped in dark green silk curtains. A door off to the side led to the bathroom, which had several showers, sinks, and toilets. The boys' trunks were already in the room. Draco claimed the middle bed, dragging his two trunks to the base of it; Crabbe and Goyle took the beds on either side of him, leaving Zabini and Nott with the outer ones. Exhausted from the long day, the boys changed into their pyjamas right away and crawled into bed. Draco's bed was soft and warm with green silk sheets, and he quickly fell into a deep, restful sleep.


	5. Chapter 5: The First Week at Hogwarts

**~ CHAPTER FIVE: THE FIRST WEEK AT HOGWARTS ~**

Adjusting to life at Hogwarts wasn't too hard, even during the first week. Sure, the castle had a way of making finding his classes difficult — both the suits of armour and the people in the paintings liked to wander, rendering a tactic like finding his way by assigning landmarks useless — but the classes themselves were interesting, and the homesickness Draco felt the first few days wore off quickly.

Every morning, he ate breakfast at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, waiting for Abraxas II or Nigellus to swoop in with packages of sweets from his mother. Then he made a big show of opening the packages in front of everyone. Sometimes they held his favourite sweets, like Chocolate Frogs or Pumpkin Pasties. Other times they held his mother's homemade treats, like scones, _petits fours_ , or biscuits. Within a couple of days, Draco received his first envelope, containing a short letter from his father, less than a page, and a gushing three-page letter from his mother. They were stored in a special hidden compartment in one of his trunks. He promised himself that he would write back to them as soon as he got the chance.

Since Draco already knew many of his pure-blood peers before he reached Hogwarts, he didn't have to work to make friends. The Slytherin girls — Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis, and Daphne Greengrass — had quickly bonded into a clique with Parkinson in the lead, while Zabini and Nott were more of the loner type. That left Draco with Crabbe and Goyle. It was a bit too early to tell if he would regret keeping them around, but he figured he wouldn't.

Draco already had strong opinions of his classes. The worst class by far was Herbology, which they had three days a week. He hated getting his hands dirty, and it took him forever to get the dirt out from underneath his nails after working in the greenhouses. Plus, some of the plants seemed downright dangerous. He much preferred them when they were dead, either in salads or in potions. History of Magic wasn't much better. History was never something Draco was particularly interested in, and it was even harder to be interested when Professor Binns, a ghost with a dull, monotonous voice, was teaching the class. Meanwhile, Defence Against the Dark Arts was a joke. The classroom always smelled like fresh garlic, and Professor Quirrell's stutter made him an easy target for students' jokes, including Draco's.

However, all was not lost, as he enjoyed some of his classes. He loved Astronomy, which he had every Tuesday at midnight with Professor Sinistra. When he was little, his father took him stargazing and told him the stories associated with each constellation. It was how Draco learned that his first name came from a constellation, just like many members of his mother's side of the family. Hence, he had a certain fondness for the night sky, and Hogwarts's Astronomy class did not disappoint.

Charms was a decent class, too, where they got to practice spells and wand work. He couldn't wait until they started learning more complex spells and charms. Transfiguration was another class he liked. Professor McGonagall was very strict and the Head of the Gryffindor house, but he had grudging respect for her. After seeing her transfigure her desk into a pig and back, he was determined to be able to do such complex magic as soon as possible.

Double Potions with the Gryffindors was turning out to be his favourite class, topping all the others. On Friday morning after breakfast, Draco wandered with the other Slytherins down to the dungeons, where Potions was held. The Potions classroom was much colder than the rest of the castle and sparsely lit, leaving it with an eerie feel that was pleasantly Dark. Draco examined the jarred creatures floating in pickling liquid along the wall before taking a seat near the front of the class with Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott.

As the rest of the students filed in nervously, Professor Snape swept out from a half-closed door at the front of the room and stood glowering in front of his desk. Draco noticed with delight that his foul mood was aimed in the direction of the Gryffindors. Once everyone was situated, Professor Snape took roll call. Draco made note of every name, trying to place names with faces for future reference. A little over halfway through, Professor Snape paused suddenly, looking up at the Gryffindor side of the room.

« Ah, yes, » he said softly. « Harry Potter. Our new — _celebrity_. »

Draco's heart leapt in his chest. Finally, somebody who wasn't going to treat Potter as if he was the ultimate gift to the wizarding world! He snickered with Crabbe and Goyle, shooting a look at Potter. Potter actually looked confused, the stupid git.

 _He probably expects everybody to worship him,_ Draco thought spitefully.

Professor Snape finished roll call. The room was now dead silent.

« You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making, » Professor Snape said. « As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big of a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach. »

The classroom was silent after this little speech. The other students were terrified, but Draco was already excited. His father spoke highly of Professor Snape, and now he could see why; he had a way of commanding others' presence that few others had.

« Potter! » Professor Snape said suddenly, nailing the Gryffindor side of the classroom with a cold look of contempt. « What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood? »

Draco couldn't believe his ears; it was as if all his prayers had been answered at once. They weren't even five minutes into Potions, and Professor Snape was already calling out Potter in front of the entire class! He looked over at Potter to catch his reaction. Potter and Weasley were exchanging a confused look, but Granger's hand was already up in the air.

« I don't know, sir, » said Potter.

The edge of Professor Snape's lip turned up into a sneer.

« Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything. »

Draco let out an audible snicker, glancing at Granger's hand, which stayed in the air. He wondered if she really knew the answer or if she just had a lucky guess.

« Let's try again, » Professor Snape said, ignoring Granger's hand entirely. « Potter, where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar? »

Draco knew the answer to that one, but it was clear from the look on Potter's face that he did not. Granger stretched her hand higher, the muscles in her arm quivering slightly from the effort. Potter's clueless face, coupled with Granger's overeagerness to answer the question, struck Draco as comedic gold. He doubled over with laughter, along with Crabbe, Goyle, and a few others.

« I don't know, sir, » Potter repeated.

Professor Snape's sneer widened slightly. « Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter? »

Draco could hardly breathe from laughing. Professor Snape was officially his favourite professor. But he didn't stop there. Still pretending as if Granger weren't raising her hand, he asked, « What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane? »

Granger stood up, her hand stretched as high as possible. Draco eyed her with interest. It was impressive that she knew the answers to all of Professor Snape's questions, which were clearly designed to be obscure.

« I don't know, » Potter said quietly, his eyes flitting over to Granger. « I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her? »

A few people laughed.

« Sit down, » Professor Snape snapped at Granger. She sat down quickly, looking wounded. « For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down? »

Students scrambled for parchment, ink, and quills as Professor Snape added, « And a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter. »

Professor Snape flicked his wand, and a piece of chalk started writing notes on the chalkboard. Draco couldn't keep the grin off his face as he scribbled down how to make a simple potion to curl boils. He had no idea what Potter had done to instil such hatred in Professor Snape, but it delighted him.

"For your first attempt at potion-making, you will work in pairs," Professor Snape said as the chalk finished writing the instructions on the board.

He swept around the tables, quickly pairing students together as his long black cloak billowed behind him. To Draco's relief, he was paired with Nott, while Crabbe and Goyle were paired together. He had been afraid that he might be paired with Crabbe or Goyle, because then he would've had to worry about one of them messing up the potion while he did all the work.

Nott was a decent-enough partner, and their potion came along swimmingly. As Draco crushed snake fangs and Nott weighed dried nettles, Professor Snape swept around the classroom giving out criticisms like sweets.

"What are you trying to do, Zabini, poison the drinker? Your slugs are so raw they might as well still be moving...

"And I suppose you realize that your potion is supposed to be light green and not puke brown, yes, Patil?...

"I would take another look at the directions up on the board, Thomas, unless the reason that you are not following directions is because you cannot read..."

Professor Snape stopped at Draco's table next. Draco almost felt nervous until he saw the edge of Professor Snape's lip curl into a rare half smile.

"Now, this is how to do it. These two have followed the directions, unlike the bulk of you. Look at how perfectly Malfoy here has stewed his horned slugs. They're just starting to turn —"

The rest of Professor Snape's sentence was interrupted by a sudden loud hissing sound as clouds of acid green smoke filled the Gryffindor side of the room. The idiot Longbottom boy was standing in front of a twisted blob that used to be a cauldron, his mouth hanging open in shock as potion dripped from his soaked body onto the floor. His partner Finnigan had escaped the spray when the cauldron collapsed, but was staring in dismay at his ruined cauldron, standing on his stool. The boys' potion was seeping across the dungeon floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Everyone climbed onto their stools to avoid the potion as angry red boils popped up all over Longbottom's body.

Professor Snape looked livid as he waved his wand and the mess disappeared.

« Idiot boy! » he snarled at Longbottom, who looked terrified. « I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire? »

Longbottom whimpered in reply.

Professor Snape turned to his partner, Finnigan. « Take him up to the hospital wing, » he spat. He whirled around to face Potter and Weasley, his eyes flashing. « You — Potter — why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor. »

Draco's heart leapt for joy. Potter looked as though he wanted to argue, but Weasley whispered urgently in his ear, and after a second, Potter closed his mouth and turned back to their cauldron.

The rest of Potions proceeded in the same manner. Professor Snape continued to praise Draco, while criticizing most everyone else's potion except for Granger's, which he reluctantly admitted was close to being satisfactory. Granger looked pleased, which Draco thought made her look even prettier. Draco was in a fantastic mood. He had known that Potions would be a great class, but he hadn't realised just how great it would be. He felt like humming or skipping as he left the dungeons an hour later with Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott.

"Let's go to the lake, it's much too nice to laze around inside," Draco said, flicking a nettle stem off the sleeve of his robe.

"But I'm 'ungry," said Crabbe. "Can't we get a bite to eat first?"

"Crabbe, we ate a few hours ago," Draco said exasperatedly, "and dinner's only a couple hours from now."

Crabbe glared at him for a few seconds before dropping his head. "I'm still 'ungry," he said mutinously.

Goyle nodded. "Me, too."

Draco let out a long sigh. "Fine, meet us outside, then?"

They agreed, so the boys went their separate ways. As Draco and Nott headed upstairs, Nott lagging slightly with his head in a book, they heard a simpering voice behind them.

"Draco! Theo! Wait up!"

Draco slowed slightly to allow Pansy Parkinson to catch up with them. Besides a few polite words here and there, he hadn't talked to her much yet. Most of the time she was too busy whispering and giggling with the other Slytherin girls to make conversation.

"Professor Snape's great, isn't he?" she gushed as soon as she was even with Draco. "He sure showed those stupid Gryffindors not to mess with him. Did you see the looks on their faces? Absolutely terrified!"

Draco glanced over at Parkinson. She was watching him eagerly for his reaction.

"Yeah, my father thinks highly of him," Draco said nonchalantly. "They went to Hogwarts together. My father was a prefect when Professor Snape was sorted."

Parkinson seemed impressed. "Wow, so have you met him before?"

"Not really, just heard my father talk about him."

"Wow," Parkinson repeated.

She seemed to be at a loss for what to say next, as awkward silence followed. They reached the entrance hall and headed down the sloping front lawns towards the lake.

"You know who really irritates me?" Parkinson said suddenly, having finally latched upon what she considered a satisfactory subject. "That Hermione Granger. She's such an insufferable know-it-all." Parkinson's voice went up an octave as she jumped up and down, waving her arm in the air in an imitation of Granger. "'Oh, Professor Snape, pick me, pick me! I read all our books over the summer and now I'm going to show off in front of everyone! Pick me, pick me!'"

Draco didn't respond. Parkinson had struck a nerve without knowing it, as he had read all their books over the summer, too. Besides, he hadn't thought of Granger as obnoxious; in fact, he considered her intelligence an attractive thing.

Parkinson gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. "I saw you looking at her in Potions," she said slyly. "Are you interested in her?"

"Don't know enough about her," Draco said shortly, unwilling to give anything away to a girl he barely knew.

"Well, it's a good thing, 'cause on top of her being a know-it-all, I've heard she's a _Mudblood!_ No wonder she's in Gryffindor, they're all a bunch of Mudblood lovers."

Draco's heart dropped, accompanied by a tightening in his stomach. Suddenly, he was very glad he hadn't written home yet; he could only imagine how embarrassing it would've been if he'd expressed his interest in Granger to his parents, only to tell them later that he'd been looking at a filthy Mudblood. It was a good thing he had been vague with his answers to Parkinson, too. He had really dodged an awkward situation there. However, he wasn't out of the woods yet. By the look Parkinson was giving him, she suspected his initial interest in Granger.

"Oh, is that so?" Draco said as indifferently as possible, determined to convince her otherwise. "That must've been what that nasty smell was when the Gryffindors walked into the room."

Parkinson looked delighted. "So you weren't looking at her?"

"Are you kidding?" Draco said, gaining momentum. "I'd rather die. I can smell a Mudblood from twenty metres away. I suspected she was one the moment I saw her."

For a second, he was afraid he had gone overboard. However, from the ecstatic look on Parkinson's face, Draco could tell he had sold her completely on his alleged distaste of Granger, at least for the present moment. His anxiety that his secret would be found out subsided, leaving him with a bitter taste in his mouth and a funny feeling in his stomach. Parkinson continued to chatter about the disgustingness of Mudbloods and blood-traitors, but he tuned it out. So, there _was_ a good reason that Granger was placed into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin. Not only was she not a pure-blood, but she was a _Mudblood_. He should've been happy that he had figured it out before his feelings had advanced any further...so why wasn't he?

Instead of happiness or relief, Draco felt a strange mixture of disappointment and embarrassment. The worst part was that the revelation that Granger was born to a pair of Muggles didn't automatically make him hate her. He hated Mudbloods, yes, and he hated himself for being interested in one, and he hated her because she attracted him, but he didn't hate _her_. This wasn't a pleasant thought, and it completely soured the mood that he was in previously because of Potions class.

The sour mood lasted through dinner time. He knew Crabbe and Goyle could tell there was something wrong with him, but thankfully they had learnt after years with him that he was not to be bothered when in a bad mood. Draco went down to his dorm as soon as he was finished eating to distract himself by writing back to his parents.

The dorm was empty, as everyone else was still up in the Great Hall. Draco dug the envelope out of the compartment in one of his trunks and sat down on his bed.

The first letter was from his mother. He smiled down at the three pages of beautiful loopy cursive on expensive parchment paper as he reread it. It began with the words " _My darling boy Draco"_ and ended with " _Your dearest Mother,"_ and in between was an endless supply of love and updates on life at the Manor. His father Lucius, despite his attempts to seem otherwise, was worried about him, and was in the middle of an application to sit on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, just to keep an eye on the place. Alfred missed him dearly and was so cross that Draco hadn't visited him that he kept trying to strut into the house to look for him. She herself missed him profusely and hoped that he was enjoying the packages of sweets she sent him every day. The two eagle owls still loathed each other and nipped at each other threateningly as they fought over who got to deliver Draco his daily package. All in all, life at the Manor continued like normal, but she stressed how much they missed him and how she hoped that everything was going well for him. It was so sweet that every time he read it he was overwhelmed with a feeling of homesickness.

The second letter was from his father. It was written in Lucius's immaculate calligraphy, a skill passed down from generation to generation in the Malfoy family even as the rest of the wizarding world dropped the tradition. Clocking in at just over half a page, it was much less profuse than his wife's and much more to the point.

 _Draco Lucius,_

 _I hope that your first week at Hogwarts is going well and that you are taking your studies seriously, regardless of the quality — or lack thereof — of the professors that Dumbledore has hired this year. I eagerly await to hear about how much you love being a Slytherin and a part of the best house at Hogwarts. I am also hopeful to hear the status of your friendship with Harry Potter. Have you talked to him yet? Which house is he in? I hope to hear that he is a budding Dark wizard, or at the very least that he shows more than a passing interest in the Dark Arts. An alliance with him is very important. Remember, it is prudent to remain on good terms with the boy._

 _As your mother may have already told you, I am soon to be a governor on the Hogwarts Board. My hope is to have a positive influence on the Board and to keep the Headmaster's rash decisions and Muggle-loving habits in check. Like I have told you numerous times before, if you have any serious issues with anything or there is something the professors and Headmaster will not solve, tell me and I will take care of it._

 _Write back as soon as possible, but do not neglect your studies to do so. I await your letter with Abraxas II._

 _Your dearest father,_

 _Lucius_

Draco took in a deep breath. His father's letter was part of the reason why he hadn't written back yet; how was he supposed to tell his father about Potter and his failed attempt at becoming friends with him? He could imagine clearly how disappointed his father would be that not only was he wrong about Harry Potter, but his son had also failed to impress the boy.

Anger welled up in him. Stupid Potter! This was all Potter's fault! Draco gritted his teeth together as he pulled out a slip of parchment and began writing the letter back to his parents.

 _Dearest Mother and Father,_

 _Slytherin is great! The common room and dorms are better than I could've imagined. I think you would like my fellow Slytherins. Hogwarts doesn't top the Manor, though; I'm enjoying my studies, but I miss being home with you._

Draco braced himself. Now he had to bring up Potter. He recoated the tip of his quill in ink and continued writing, his hand shaking slightly with poorly-suppressed rage.

 _As for Harry Potter, he is nothing like we imagined. The stories of his greatness and the rumour that he is a Dark wizard in the making — it's all a load of codswallop. He was already friends with a filthy blood-traitor Weasley when I went to talk to him on the train, and he seemed to be enjoying his company. I tried to warn him that he needed to choose his friends more wisely, that the Weasleys and freaks like Hagrid would rub off on him, but instead he rudely rejected my offer of friendship and almost started a fight with me right there on the train. To top it off, he was sorted into that awful house you always complained about, Gryffindor. He's an insufferable, arrogant prat!_

Draco's hand shook so much that the last word, _prat,_ became little more than a blob. Taking deep, calming breaths, he put down his quill and read over the letter a few times. He added an extra paragraph thanking his mother for the packages of sweets and wishing his father the best of luck as a Hogwarts governor before sealing the letter in an envelope. Then he put the letter under his pillow to send later and left the dorm.

 _Stupid Potter,_ he thought angrily as he headed upstairs to rejoin his fellow Slytherins. _Stupid Potter, stupid Weasley, stupid Granger... Merlin, I hate Gryffindors!_


	6. Chapter 6: Flying with the Gryffindors

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Recently, I checked my reviews and ran across a guest poster accusing me of plagiarising someone else's work. They claimed that my story was too similar to one written by CarterCaine in 2008 on HPAdultArchive, but I can't even find a fansite with that name, much less a story anywhere on the internet by that user. Let me reiterate that _Enemies_ is my own work, one that I have spent over two years writing since its inception in December 2016. I would _never_ copy somebody else's work and pass it off as my own. Due to the sheer number of Harry Potter fanfics out there, there are bound to be tropes and clichés that end up appearing in multiple works, so I apologize for any coincidences or similarities that may arise between my fic and other fanworks. But I would never steal someone else's hard work and claim it as my own. That's just unfair and wrong.

Speaking of plagiarism, remember that I cross-post _Enemies_ on here, AO3, and Wattpad under the same username (alexanderavery998). If you find this work anywhere else, please let me know, because that means that it has been stolen and reposted without my permission. Thank you!

* * *

 **~ CHAPTER SIX: FLYING WITH THE GRYFFINDORS ~**

The next morning, Draco sent his letter along with Abraxas II when the owl landed on the breakfast table. Then he tried to enjoy the freedom of his first weekend at Hogwarts without worrying about his parents' response.

Their response came on Sunday. As soon as Draco saw Abraxas II flying at him with a letter accompanying his usual package, his stomach did a flop. His breakfast lay forgotten on the table as he slowly tore open the envelope. Too scared to read his father's response, Draco skimmed his mother's first. To his relief, his mother wasn't upset with him. She was horrified to hear that the boys almost got into a fight — _"On your first day no less, and still on the Hogwarts Express!"_ — but she didn't blame him for the ordeal. She, too, expressed contempt for Gryffindors, Hagrid, and the Weasleys, and she hinted that if Potter wanted to hang with that lot, perhaps Draco would be better off with different company.

Heartened by her response, Draco turned to his father's letter. However, his father's letter was much less warm. He was happy to hear about Draco's Slytherin pride, but he was extremely disappointed with the entire circumstance surrounding Potter. He was furious that Potter had mistreated his son and that his theory about Potter was proven wrong in such an embarrassing manner, but he scolded Draco for acting the way that he had:

 _"Did I not just tell you in my last letter that it is prudent to remain on good terms with the boy? If you cannot manage that, at least use your Malfoy cunning and pretend that you like him. It is not wise to seem as though you dislike the boy whom everyone sees as the noble hero who defeated the Dark Lord. I would have thought you had more sense than that."_

Draco winced and fit the letters back in the envelope, smarting at his father's harsh words. It was easy for his father to talk about faking positive feelings for Potter when he was miles away at the Manor. He wasn't the one having to deal with the professors and other Hogwarts students tripping over themselves to make everything as cosy as possible for the sodding Boy Who Lived. And he wasn't the one whose offer of friendship was rejected in such a humiliating manner.

However, Draco didn't stew in his anger for long. On Monday morning, he got his first chance to get back at Potter. A notice pinned on the doors of the first year Slytherin dorms announced that they would be starting flying lessons on Thursday with the Gryffindors. Most of the other Slytherins seemed less than pleased with this news, but Draco's chest swelled with confidence. There was no way any of the other first years were better than him at flying. This was his chance to knock Potter down a few notches.

By the time Thursday rolled around, Draco was more than ready to show off his flying skills. He woke up in great mood that only got better when the owls swooped in during breakfast and he noticed that Potter's ridiculous snowy owl hadn't brought him anything again. Potter hadn't gotten anything for almost a week. As the snowy owl fluttered off to the owlery with a slice of bacon in its beak, Draco decided to saunter by the Gryffindor table and taunt him for it.

He got Crabbe and Goyle's attention and pointed in the direction of the Gryffindors.

"Look at poor Potter, nobody to send him letters." Draco snickered. "Come on."

Crabbe and Goyle followed. As the boys neared the Gryffindor table, however, Draco was distracted by a light coming from Longbottom's hands. It was a Remembrall, and by the way it was glowing bright scarlet, it looked as though the idiot had forgotten something. Changing plans on the fly, Draco reached over and snatched the Remembrall out of Longbottom's grip as he passed. It had the intended effect, as Potter and Weasley were on their feet in an instant. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall was there an instant later.

« What's going on? »

« Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor, » Longbottom squeaked.

Frustration shot through Draco and he scowled, dropping the Remembrall on the table quicker than he had intended. « Just looking, » he said.

Then he slouched away with Crabbe and Goyle, his insides burning with anger. So much for making fun of Potter. He would have to wait until that afternoon to humiliate him.

Flying lessons could not come quick enough. His classes dragged by and he could hardly concentrate on his Charms homework during the free period. Finally, Draco made his way outside with the other Slytherin first years. It was a beautiful afternoon for flying, with clear skies and a light breeze. At the bottom of the grassy slope, Madam Hooch was waiting for them with broomsticks. Soon, the Gryffindors came down the slope towards them. Draco was pleased to see that many of them looked apprehensive.

As soon as they reached the broomsticks, Madam Hooch barked, « Well, what are you all waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up. »

There were eighteen brooms to choose from, laid out in two neat rows in the grass. Draco quickly chose one of the less worn-looking brooms. Some of the brooms were so rough that they looked as though they might give their rider splinters, while others only had half their twigs left.

 _These look like brooms that even the Weasleys might be able to afford,_ Draco thought disdainfully, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

« Stick out your right hand over your broom and say 'Up!' » Madam Hooch said.

"UP!" Draco shouted.

His broom leapt into his hand immediately. However, Greengrass and Nott were the only other Slytherins whose brooms jumped readily into their hands. On the Gryffindor side, the situation was similar. Potter, Weasley, and Finnigan's brooms leapt up to their owners, but Granger's broom merely rolled over and Longbottom's didn't even budge. The unsuccessful first years were told to pick up their brooms while Madam Hooch showed them how to mount a broomstick.

"Now stay where you are while I check everyone's grip," she said, putting down the example broom.

Madam Hooch walked down the rows, her hawk-like eyes piercing each student. Draco's good mood improved as he watched her correct most of the Gryffindors. He straightened up when she reached him, his chest swelling with confidence and pride in his flying ability. However, instead of looking impressed with his stellar grip, Madam Hooch's facial expression didn't change.

"Your hands are in the wrong place, dear, they should be up here," she said, pointing closer to the front end of the broom.

"But this is how I've always flown," Draco protested, feeling as though he'd been kicked in the gut. "This is how my father showed me how to hold it and it's always worked for me!"

"Well, regardless of how many years you've held it like that, your hands should be up here," said Madam Hooch.

Draco gritted his teeth together as she moved on to Crabbe, hoping that nobody else had been listening to their exchange. He almost wanted to disregard what she'd told him and continue using his old grip, but after a few seconds, he reluctantly moved his hands to where she had pointed. His pride deflated as he realised that this grip felt more natural and put less strain on his back and leg muscles than his old grip. He silently fumed to himself as Madam Hooch finished checking the other first years and walked back to the front.

« Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground hard, » said Madam Hooch. « Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two — »

But before she could reach one, Longbottom let out a nervous squeak and pushed off from the ground. He shot up into the air, his rotund face the picture of absolute terror.

« Come back, boy! » Madam Hooch yelled as the other first years gasped in horror.

However, it was obvious that Longbottom had no idea how to stop his ascent. He kept rising until he made the mistake of looking down. Then he gasped and slipped off his broom to the shrieks of the other first years, landing face-down in the grass with a thud and a sharp cracking noise that couldn't be good news. Draco tore his eyes away from Longbottom's motionless shape and saw that the idiot's broomstick was drifting away towards the Forbidden Forest on the opposite side of the grounds.

Madam Hooch had hurried over to Longbottom as soon as he had fallen and was now helping him up. The boy was clutching his wrist — _it must be broken,_ Draco thought with glee — and tears streamed down his stark white face.

« None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! » Madam Hooch snapped. « You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear, » she added to Longbottom in a nicer tone, before escorting him up the sloping lawns towards the castle.

Draco couldn't contain his mirth. It served that incompetent idiot right for tattling on him earlier! As soon as they were out of earshot, he burst out laughing at Longbottom's misfortune.

« Did you see his face, the great lump? » he said loudly. "I knew Longbottom would be the first off his broom!"

As the Slytherins roared with laughter, one of the Gryffindors, a pretty girl with her dark hair in a plait, clenched her fists and glared at him. « Shut up, Malfoy. »

Before Draco could say anything, Parkinson said, « Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom? Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry-babies, Parvati. »

Suddenly, something glinting in the grass caught Draco's eye. He couldn't believe his luck; it was Longbottom's Remembrall. « Look! » he said, leaping forwards and scooping it up. « It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him. »

He held it up dramatically, letting it catch the light of the sun and knowing that everyone's eyes were now on him. As he smirked and tried to decide what he was going to do with it, Potter spoke up quietly.

« Give that here, Malfoy. »

Draco moved the Remembrall to the side, away from Potter but where it could still glint in the sunshine. The boy was glaring him. Draco's smirk broadened, knowing that this was his chance to humiliate Potter in front of everyone.

« I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree? » he said, delighting in watching Potter's anger heighten. Before Potter could do anything, he leapt skilfully onto his broom and took off into the air.

« Give it _here!_ » Potter yelled, sounding like a whiny child.

Draco laughed. He reached the top of the nearest tree and hovered over it, grinning at the shocked faces below him. « Come and get it, Potter! » he taunted, daringly letting go of his broom with one hand and waving the Remembrall in the air.

His taunt worked. Potter grabbed his broom, but Granger moved to intercept him, looking angry. « _No!_ Madam Hooch told us not to move — you'll get us all into trouble! »

Potter ignored her and leapt onto his broom. Draco leaned forward eagerly, waiting to see a disaster in the making. However, his delight turned to astonishment as Potter shot into the air and turned sharply to face him to the gasps and screams of the first years back on the ground. Draco struggled to keep his composure as shock pulsed through his veins. Where had Potter learned to fly so well? He'd heard stories about how Potter was raised by Muggles, and Potter himself had told him that he didn't play Quidditch back in Madam Malkin's. So how in Merlin's beard did Potter look as though he'd been flying for years?

« Give it here, » Potter called confidently, « or I'll knock you off that broom! »

Draco could hear the rapid pulse of blood in his ears. His palms started to sweat.

« Oh, yeah? » he retorted, trying to twist his face into a sneer.

Potter narrowed his eyes and shot towards him. Panic pulsing through his veins, Draco pulled out of his way as fast as he could. Potter whizzed past close enough to ruffle his hair and robes. Then Potter turned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees to face him, grinning triumphantly. Draco's heart was in his throat. He had never wished more in his life to be back down on the ground with Crabbe and Goyle on either side of him.

« No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy, » Potter called, as if he could read Draco's mind.

A sudden wave of anger crashed over Draco.

 _Well, fine! If Saint I'm-Better-Than-Everybody Potter wants Longbottom's Remembrall so bad, then he can have it!_

« Catch it if you can, then! » Draco shouted.

With a mighty heave, he threw the Remembrall as high into the air as he could before diving to the ground, landing with a slight stumble but otherwise unharmed. The first years around him gasped and screamed. Draco whipped around in time to see Potter streaking towards the ground after the Remembrall, his arm outstretched. What was the idiot _doing?_ Did he _want_ to kill himself? Draco wanted to look away but couldn't, sure that he was going to break his neck. However, Potter's fingers closed around the Remembrall and the boy pulled up his broom at the last possible second, toppling into the grass completely unharmed. Draco let out a breath, torn between feeling jealous, furious, relieved, and disappointed at the same time.

« HARRY POTTER! »

Potter got his feet, looking terrified. Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the grassy slope towards them. Her robes billowed out behind her, wisps of hair flying free from her tight bun and her glasses flashing dangerously in the sunlight. She looked more furious than Draco had ever seen her. Gratitude flooded through him that it was Potter who had been caught flying and not him.

« _Never_ — in all my time at Hogwarts — how _dare_ you — might have broken your neck — » she spluttered as she drew even with the trembling first years.

« It wasn't his fault, Professor — »

« Be quiet, Miss Patil — »

« But Malfoy — »

« That's _enough,_ Mr Weasley, » said Professor McGonagall before Draco could defend himself. « Potter, follow me, now. »

Then she turned and marched towards the castle, Potter scurrying after her with Longbottom's Remembrall still clutched in his hand. Draco grinned triumphantly. The flying lesson certainly hadn't gone as planned, but this outcome was better than anything he could have dreamed. He might not have been able to one-up Potter in the air, but now it seemed as though Madam Hooch had been serious. Oh, wait until he could write home and tell his father all about the Boy Who Had Gotten Himself Expelled!

Draco made nasty jokes about Longbottom and Potter's misfortunes to the other Slytherins' amusement and the Gryffindors' chagrin until Madam Hooch came back from the castle, looking disgruntled. The first years huddled together as Madam Hooch drew even with them. Neither Potter nor Longbottom was anywhere to be seen.

"Are we all done with the rule-breaking and shenanigans, or shall we give up right now and head back to the castle?" she said icily.

There was dead silence. Madam Hooch let out a long sigh.

"We don't have much time left in class, so everyone get back to your brooms. And for Merlin's sake, don't do anything else unless I tell you to!"

The first years were too scared to step out of line again while Madam Hooch led them through the basic exercises, including lifting off, landing, and flying in a wide circle close to the ground. Madam Hooch complimented Draco on his flying more than once before class was over. As the first years traipsed back to the castle to get ready for dinner, Draco's good mood was back and better than ever. What a great day it was turning out to be!

Draco spent most of dinner recounting that afternoon's conflict to Crabbe and Goyle even though they'd been there, dramatizing the scene until it could've been at home in _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. When he became bored with this, Draco looked across the Great Hall and saw Potter and Weasley talking to the Weasley twins. His eyes narrowed; Potter looked too cheerful. Disappointment settled in his chest. Did that mean that Potter had somehow avoided expulsion? He had been so hopeful that he would be rid of the boy for good after this evening.

"Come on," Draco said, standing up from the Slytherin table abruptly.

He headed for Potter with Crabbe and Goyle in tow. Luckily for him, the Weasley twins had disappeared by the time he reached the Gryffindors.

« Having a last meal, Potter? » he taunted as Potter turned towards him. « When are you getting on the train back to the Muggles? »

Potter looked unfazed. « You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you. »

Draco narrowed his eyes, his muscles tensing. Crabbe and Goyle scowled and cracked their knuckles menacingly. Neither one of them looked pleased to be called Draco's "little friends," but there was nothing they could do about it when there were so many adults and witnesses around. A plan quickly formed in Draco's head; whether Potter had been expelled yet or not, he would be gone after tonight. Draco would make sure of it.

« I'd take you on anytime on my own. Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only — no contact. » Catching Potter's puzzled look, he pounced. « What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose? »

Weasley whipped around, taking the bait.

« Of course he has. I'm his second, who's yours? »

Draco knew it didn't matter, but he pretended to size up his allies. « Crabbe. Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked. »

Then he turned around and headed out of the Great Hall, a smirk spreading across his pale face. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Gryffindors were too stubborn to pass up a chance to show their bravery. He'd have Potter and Weasley expelled by tomorrow morning.

"Where're we going?" Goyle said as Draco picked up the pace, putting distance between them and the Great Hall. "I'm still 'ungry."

"You can eat more later," Draco said. "First we have to speak to Filch."

"Filch?" Crabbe asked. "Why Filch?"

Draco stopped in the middle of the corridor and turned to face his allies.

"Merlin, Crabbe, you don't think we're _actually_ going to have a wizard's duel with those two, do you?"

Crabbe's forehead scrunched up as he tried to think. It looked painful. "But...but you said we was gonna duel them tonight."

"Yes, I said that, but it doesn't mean that we will. Think about it," Draco said, beginning to walk again. "If we tell Filch that we've overheard students talking about sneaking out past curfew to duel in the trophy room, then —"

But before he could finish explaining his brilliant plan, none other than Filch and his scrawny cat, Mrs Norris, appeared from the gloom.

"Students in the corridor," Filch wheezed as he approached them, his eyes bulging grotesquely. "Should we write them up for loitering, my sweet?" he said to the cat.

Resisting the urge to kick Mrs Norris, Draco launched into his planned spiel. "Actually, we just overheard some students in the Great Hall talking about how they were going to sneak out and have a duel in the trophy room around midnight. I thought you might want to know about it, so we were coming to find you."

Filch squinted at them as though he was trying to assess the validity of Draco's statement.

"Could be lying to me, you could," he said slowly, after a long pause. "Trying to avoid being written up for loitering, perhaps?"

"Stop by the trophy room at midnight if you don't believe me," Draco snapped. "Trust me, they'll be there. Now if you'll excuse us, we'll be on our way."

He shoved past Filch, deliberately bumping his foot into Mrs Norris as he went. Crabbe and Goyle hurried after him down to the Slytherin dorms.

"Draco, why'd you tell Filch 'bout our duel?" Crabbe asked as they reached the entrance to the common room. "Ain't we gonna get in trouble now?"

"For Merlin's sake, you two are thick!" Draco exclaimed. "We're not going to be there at midnight at all. We're going to be asleep, safe in our beds. I _lied._ "

Foolish grins broke out on Crabbe and Goyle's faces.

"I'm trying to get Potter and the Weasel expelled," Draco continued. "I thought Potter would be expelled after today's flying lesson, but this will seal the deal. They can't keep making exceptions for the Boy Who Lived if he keeps screwing up and breaking the rules."

"Wow, you's a genius," Goyle said in awe as they entered the common room.

"Yeah, yeah. Just don't tell anyone anything I said," Draco said, dropping his voice hastily as a fifth year turned in their direction.

Crabbe and Goyle promised not to say anything and went to finish eating, leaving Draco alone. He plopped down in a high-backed chair away from the fireplace and closed his eyes, a smug smile lingering on his face. By the time he went to sleep and woke up the next morning, Potter would be packing his bags to return to the Muggles. He could not have been happier with himself. What could possibly go wrong?


	7. Chapter 7: Jealousy and a Troll

**~ CHAPTER SEVEN: JEALOUSY AND A TROLL ~**

Draco piled his plate high with eggs, bacon, and slices of toast.

"You see that?" he asked Crabbe and Goyle, motioning to the Gryffindor table with his fork. "No Potter and Weasley. My plan worked."

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled as Draco smirked at his breakfast. Part of him had wondered whether Potter and Weasley were stupid enough to think he would risk going out after curfew to duel them in the Trophy room, but another part of him had been convinced they would. The latter part of him was proven right; neither boy was at breakfast. His plan to get them expelled had worked.

"I knew those two idiots would want nothing more than to show their bravery," Draco said as he spread butter on his toast. "It's a good thing Filch decided to check the trophy room, after all; I was a little worried that the barmy old man would ignore my warning. He was way too eager to write us up for loitering. But I should've known, any excuse to get students in trouble is something Filch would take advantage of. He's always sneaking around, trying to catch students breaking the rules. I have half a mind to ask Father if there's anything he can do to get the guy sacked. He just sent me a letter yesterday telling me the good news; he's been accepted onto the Hogwarts Board of Governors, so his first order of business is to —"

"Um, Draco?"

Draco was so cross at being interrupted that his butter knife went through his slice of toast. "What do you want, Crabbe?" he snapped.

"I thought you said you got Potter an' his Weasel friend expelled."

"What are you talking about, you idiot, of course I di —"

The words faltered on Draco's tongue as his eyes were met with an extraordinary sight. Potter and Weasley were approaching the Gryffindor table, looking exhausted but perfectly content.

Draco gripped his butter knife harder than necessary. "Are you kidding me?" he hissed. "How are they still here?"

Crabbe scratched his head. "Maybe they didn't get caught?"

"There's no way; how could they have escaped Filch? This isn't fair! I can't believe that Potter hasn't been expelled after everything he did yesterday!"

Draco shot daggers in the direction of the Gryffindors, where Potter and Weasley were digging into their breakfasts with gusto. However, neither one of them looked in his direction, so he resigned himself to glowering at his breakfast instead. How was this possible? Had they chickened out and not gone to the Trophy room for a duel? Draco doubted it. They were Gryffindors, after all; Gryffindors weren't the type to back down from a fight. Draco supposed it was possible that Filch had disregarded his tip-off, but that was unlikely. It was next to impossible, too, that the boys had somehow avoided Filch and gotten back to the Gryffindor common room unharmed. So what was it? How had they escaped expulsion?

He stabbed at his eggs violently. Stupid Potter. Getting back at him was going to be much harder than he thought.

Draco was distracted for the rest of the day, so much so that he was reprimanded by Professor McGonagall for not paying attention in Transfiguration. His anger made it hard for him to concentrate. This was the second time that Potter had gotten away with something majorly against the rules and suffered no repercussions for his actions. Were the teachers at Hogwarts so biased that they were unwilling to dole out punishments to the Boy Who Lived?

Draco was relieved when Transfiguration wrapped up and they were dismissed. He wandered down to the lake with Crabbe and Goyle and sat in the shade of a large tree, flicking pebbles into the water. Crabbe and Goyle stayed silent, but for once, it didn't bother him. It gave him an opportunity to stew in his thoughts. Finally, he got bored with flicking pebbles and leaned against the rough bark of the tree, closing his eyes. It was peaceful and relaxing until he heard a familiar shrill voice.

"Hey, Draco! Over here!"

Draco sighed inwardly and kept his eyes shut. Maybe if he pretended that he was asleep, she would leave him alone.

"Draco! Vin, Greg! Hi!"

No such luck. Draco opened his eyes reluctantly to see Parkinson hurrying towards them. She looked immaculate like always; her robes were pressed, ironed, and adorned with delicate Slytherin-green stitching, and not one hair was out of place. However, no amount of pristine grooming could make her pretty. Her face had a squashed quality to it, like a pug without its endearing nature, and her dark brown eyes were hard and calculating.

"Hello, Parkinson."

"Mind if I join you guys?"

Before the boys could say anything, she had made herself at home on one of the tree roots, sitting far too close to Draco for his liking.

"Oh, that's better," she said. "It's much nicer in the shade. I'm so glad it's the weekend, aren't you? No more classes and free time to do whatever we want. I think they work us far too hard here, personally."

Draco stared straight ahead, feeling her eyes boring into him as she waited for a response. "Mmm," he answered noncommittally.

"Mind you, I also think they give us too much homework. I mean, a two-foot Charms essay, can you believe it? I'll get bored before I've reached a foot. I rather think I'll start it the night before it's due."

Draco thought back to the already half-done Charms essay sitting in his room next to his books and didn't reply. Suddenly, he was missing the silence of just Crabbe and Goyle's company.

"...and that research project for Herbology, too," Parkinson was saying as he tuned back in. "Only a loser would care about how to take care of any of the stupid plants in that greenhouse. And the last time we had class in there, I broke a nail!" She held her perfectly-manicured nails away from her face, pouting at them.

"Don't you have anywhere else to be?" Draco asked bluntly. "Where are Greengrass and Davis and Bulstrode?"

"I dunno," Parkinson said lightly, missing the hint. She was still inspecting her nails as if they were the most interesting thing she had ever seen. "Probably studying. I love Daphne to death, but she is _such_ a nerd. Almost as bad as a Ravenclaw or that obnoxious know-it-all Hermione Granger."

Draco felt a twinge in his stomach at the mention of Granger. Parkinson continued to blather on, but he tuned her out, adding in an "Mmm" and an "Uh-huh" every so often to seem as though he was paying attention. There was no doubt about it: Parkinson got on his nerves. Her constant need for attention and high-pitched voice were enough to drive him insane, but she was also rather stupid and disliked everything to do with school. They were exact opposites in that respect. Draco went to the library daily to study and work. He never skimped on an assignment; if an essay asked for two feet, he'd be sure to give more. However, Parkinson couldn't care less about her grades beyond making sure she passed. She complained loudly whenever she attempted to do her work; for every sentence she wrote, she matched it with fifteen minutes of procrastinating and a great deal of whining. He had yet to see her turn in an assignment that was fully done.

On top of everything, she was much too interested in him. He swore every time they had free time, she managed to squeeze in a conversation with him. Every time he made a comment in class, she had to respond or let him know how clever he was. As much as it pleased him to hear that his jokes were heard and appreciated, Parkinson laughed at every single one of them, even the ones that weren't funny. She was always touching him, too, a brush against his arm here, a brief hand on his shoulder there. It drove him insane, and not in a good way.

Parkinson placed an impatient hand on his upper arm, proving his point. Parkinson's brow furrowed and her lower lip jutted out as Draco pulled away from her touch.

"Draco, did you hear me?" she whined.

"How could I not?" he said before he could stop himself, but she didn't catch his insult.

"I was saying that you seem very distracted." Parkinson pouted. "You didn't even chuckle at my joke. It was a good one, too."

Draco willed himself not to lose his temper.

"It must've slipped past me," he said coolly. "I'm a bit tired today."

Parkinson nodded vigorously as if that explained everything.

"Oh, you must be, you're such a hard worker!" she gushed. "You know, you should rest a little. All that schoolwork can't be good for the brain."

Needless to say, sometimes Parkinson irritated him so much that he thought he'd rather have Potter's company to hers. Almost.

That evening marked the beginning of the weekend. After dinner, Draco played a few rounds of wizarding chess against Nott before heading to bed. His sleep was not as restful as he would've liked. He woke up in the middle of the night convinced that he had dreamed of Potter, but the harder he tried to remember the dream, the hazier it got. He rolled over and went back to sleep, and by morning, he didn't remember the dream at all.

When classes resumed on Monday, Draco avoided Potter as much as possible except to shoot glares at him in the Great Hall and to laugh at him during Potions. He was still annoyed that he hadn't succeeded in getting Potter and Weasley expelled. He wanted to write home and complain to his father about how the rules always seemed to fall in Potter's favour, but after the last scathing letter, he wasn't sure if his father would be sympathetic. At any rate, Draco appreciated the days when he managed to avoid the Gryffindors completely, though in retrospect, he should've known the brief lull in conflict couldn't last forever.

On Friday morning, Draco sat with Crabbe and Goyle as usual, waiting for the mail to arrive. Soon the owls came streaming in. However, one package drew the attention of everyone in the hall. Six large screech owls were carrying a long thin package wrapped in brown paper, and they flew straight to the Gryffindor table and dropped it in front of Potter.

Draco felt as amazed as Potter looked.

"That's Potter's?" he spluttered. "But Potter never gets mail! He hasn't gotten anything since the beginning of the term. The stupid git doesn't have anybody to contact by owl."

He watched closely as Potter tore open the accompanying letter and his expression turned from confused to gleeful. As Potter passed the note to Weasley and the boys stared at the package in wonder, a sudden unwelcome idea of what Potter had received popped into his head. It couldn't be... First years weren't allowed... But that hadn't stopped Potter before...

"Come on," Draco said, standing up from the Slytherin table abruptly.

He hurried out of the hall, followed by a confused Crabbe and Goyle. They positioned themselves at the bottom of the entrance hall stairs, and sure enough, Potter and Weasley arrived moments later. They were talking animatedly but stopped as soon as they saw the Slytherins. Draco lunged forward and snatched the package from Potter's hands before he could stop him, hoping it wouldn't be what he thought it was. His stomach dropped as he ran his hands along the brown paper. No such luck.

« That's a broomstick, » he said roughly, struggling to keep the jealousy from his face as he tossed it back. « You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them. »

Neither boy looked worried. In fact, Weasley had the nerve to grin at him.

« It's not any old broomstick, it's a Nimbus Two Thousand, » Weasley said. « What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty? Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus. »

Rage and jealousy surged through Draco's veins. « What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle, » he snarled. « I suppose you and your brothers would have to save up twig by twig. »

It was worth the anger that flashed across Weasley's smug face. Before the redhead could come up with a retort, Professor Flitwick appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

« Not arguing, I hope, boys? »

« Potter's been sent a broomstick, » Draco said instantly, relief flooding through his veins. Professor Flitwick could sort this out.

But to his horror, Professor Flitwick beamed at the Gryffindor boys, instead. « Ah, yes, that's right! Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it? »

Draco's eyes darted to Potter and Weasley's identical expressions of glee. No, no, no, this could not be happening, not again! How was Potter allowed to bring a broomstick when no other first years were allowed? The words "special circumstances" rang in Draco's ears. What "special circumstances" could possibly justify giving Potter another pass after all the trouble he had caused?

« A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir, » Potter was saying as Draco recovered. « And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it! »

Draco stood frozen in horror on the steps as Potter and Weasley passed him and Flitwick moved on his way towards the Great Hall. He barely heard the boys' laughter fade into the distance through the roaring of blood through his ears. What had Potter just said?

After a few seconds, Crabbe said hesitantly, "Um, Draco...you alright?"

"Of course I'm not alright!" Draco snarled, clenching his fists so tightly that his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. "What in the bloody hell just happened? How could I have anything to do with that Scarhead receiving a brand-new racing broom? It's against the rules! First years aren't allowed! What did Potter mean by that? What do I have to do with this? How come Potter always gets special treatment? Oh, Merlin, I hate him so much!"

Crabbe and Goyle didn't respond, but it was just as well. Draco was so furious, jealous, and confused that he could barely think straight. Suddenly, his appetite was gone. Resisting the urge to scream, he turned on his heel and stormed off to the dormitory to grab his books for the day's lessons. When he turned to see if Crabbe and Goyle were following him, they were gone, presumably to finish breakfast.

"Fat lot of good they do me," Draco muttered to himself as he stomped to his room. "I swear all they ever do is eat. If they used their _brains_ once in a while, they'd at least have something to _say_ in this situation. _Merlin_ , I hate Potter!"

Draco couldn't concentrate for the rest of the day. He was so distracted that he caught the matchstick he was supposed to be turning into a needle on fire during Transfiguration. His embarrassment compounded when Professor McGonagall reprimanded him for his lack of concentration for the second week in a row. _It's all Potter's fault!_ he wanted to scream as he got up to grab another matchstick, but he knew it would be pointless. He resolved himself to taking his anger out on his new match. By the end of class, it was pointy enough to take a good stab at Potter, which is what he had been imagining as he had transfigured it.

It was as Draco headed to his room to drop off his books after class when it struck him that all of his miseries so far had happened because of Potter and his friends. He considered once again writing home and asking for advice, but he already knew what the responses would be. His mother would tell him that he was better off ignoring the Gryffindors, while his father would probably reprimand him for not acting more civilly towards Potter.

Draco flopped down on his bed and sighed. He wasn't used to not getting his way. It was a situation that he had encountered so little that he wasn't sure what to do with it. Normally, he would have thrown a tantrum or sulked, but there wasn't any point of that if there was no one around to be manipulated. How did people stand it when things didn't go their way?

After stewing in his thoughts, Draco decided he wouldn't write to his parents and tell them about Potter unless the situation worsened. Then he would appeal to his father. It was the only thing he knew to do in a situation like this. He remembered a piece of his father's advice during their last breakfast together: " _If there is anything the professors or the Headmaster will not solve, leave it to me. I'll get it figured out."_ His father's words were comforting, as Draco trusted him more than anybody else in his life. _Father will know what to do_ , he thought.

In the meantime, Draco decided to ignore Potter. That was easier said than done, especially when Parkinson brought him the news a week and a half later that Potter had been seen on the Quidditch pitch, practicing with the Gryffindor Quidditch team as their new Seeker.

"Don't be ridiculous, Parkinson, you know first years aren't allowed on the house teams," Draco had snapped at her. "Where did you hear that, anyway?"

Parkinson smirked at him. "I can't tell you that, but I can assure you my sources are accurate. They said something about him getting special permission from McGonagall to play. I've heard he's quite the flyer, too."

Draco felt the familiar anger and envy surge through his veins, along with the burning desire to put Potter in his place.

"I wouldn't believe everything you hear about him," he said, turning back to his History of Magic essay. "I bet Potter only made the team due to his stupid scar. That's the only thing special about him."

Thankfully Halloween was quickly approaching, which finally succeeded in putting Potter out of his mind. After hearing his parents' stories about the elaborate holiday festivities at Hogwarts, Draco was looking forward to seeing what the castle had to offer. Sure enough, when Draco went to the Great Hall for breakfast on Halloween morning, the corridors were filled with the smell of baking pumpkin. By dinnertime, the Great Hall was beautifully decorated. Carved pumpkins with wicked grins lined the edges of the hall, while thousands of bats fluttered around the flickering candles above the students' heads.

Draco was in an unusually good mood. As he dug into his stuffed baked potato, he bragged to Crabbe and Goyle about his father's plans as a Hogwarts Governor. He was in the midst of telling them about how his father was working on banning _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ from the Hogwarts library for its positive depiction of wizard-Muggle marriage when the doors to the Great Hall flew open with a huge bang.

Professor Quirrell stood in the doorway. His face was alight with a strange wildness, and his purple turban was lopsided.

"Dumbledore —" he gasped, clutching his side.

Professor Quirrell pushed his way through the students and ghosts until he reached the front of the hall, where he slumped against the High Table in front of the Headmaster, his chest heaving.

« Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know, » he rasped.

Before Draco could comprehend what was happening, Professor Quirrell's eyes rolled back into his head and he slithered to the floor, where he lay slumped in a dead faint.

The Great Hall exploded in a cacophony of sound. Though the Muggle-borns looked thoroughly confused, most of the other students' faces were stricken with terror. Fear pounded in Draco's chest. Trolls were extremely dangerous creatures, known for their brute strength and stupidity; it was hard to believe that one had found its way into Hogwarts by itself. Even the professors looked flustered and worried.

Professor Dumbledore was one of the only people in the hall who looked completely unfazed, and he had gotten to his feet as soon as Professor Quirrell had fainted. It looked as though he was yelling something, but it was impossible to hear him. He whipped out his wand and fired deafening purple firecrackers into the air until the noise in the Great Hall fell to a low rumble. When he spoke this time, his words were audible.

« Prefects, lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately! »

As students leapt to their feet in a mad rush to leave the Great Hall, Professor Snape stood abruptly and faced Dumbledore, his eyes flashing.

"Surely you can't be serious? Need I remind you that the Slytherin dormitories are _in the dungeon?_ What am I supposed to do, instruct my prefects to lead my students down there and hope they don't run into the troll?"

"Indeed, that is unfortunate," Dumbledore said, putting his wand back in his robes. "I had not thought of that."

"Indeed," Professor Snape repeated icily.

Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard him. "The Slytherin students may stay in the Great Hall. I will leave a few professors in charge of guarding the doors in case the troll finds its way up here. Can somebody help Quirinus? It appears he has come to."

Draco sat up taller and craned his neck to see what was happening. Professor Sinistra was helping a shaky Professor Quirrell to his feet, who was protesting feebly that he didn't need her assistance. Professor Snape was watching them through narrowed eyes.

"R-really, I'm f-fine," Professor Quirrell said, pulling his arm away from Professor Sinistra. "I j-just s-suffered a nasty s-s-shock, is all." He laughed nervously and his face twitched. "D-don't w-worry, I-I'll go s-s-straight to the Infirmary. I-I've h-had enough adventure f-f-for t-today."

Looking unsteady on his feet, Professor Quirrell left the hall. After a few seconds, Professor Snape turned and followed him out, his robes billowing behind him.

By this point, the Slytherins were the only students left in the hall. They were still sitting, looking uncertain as to what they were supposed to do. Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands.

"Well, you might as well finish your dinner," he said, as if having a troll in the castle was as normal as having guests over for lunch. "Minerva, come. I would like to find the troll before it wreaks too much havoc."

The Headmaster swept out of the hall with Professor McGonagall close behind, leaving Professors Flitwick and Sinistra to keep watch over the Slytherins. Draco poked at his stuffed baked potato. He was still hungry, but in all the excitement, his potato had become cold. He hated cold potato. Meanwhile, up and down the Slytherin table, students gossiped and whispered excitedly.

"How do you think a troll could've gotten in?" Draco asked Crabbe and Goyle as he reached for a fresh potato. Since they were stupid enough to be part-troll themselves, it made sense to ask them.

Goyle paused from stuffing his face, his mouth hanging open to reveal his half-chewed dinner. "I dunno, through the front door?"

Okay, so asking them would get him nowhere. Draco turned to eavesdropping on the older students' conversations. He was halfway through his second fresh potato and deeply immersed in their speculation when Gemma Farley stood up suddenly, her eyes wide.

"Wait, everyone stop talking," she exclaimed. "Do you hear that?"

Silence fell over the students. In the distance there was a faint roar and the sound of huge footsteps crashing against the floor. It sounded as though it was coming from somewhere above them, which didn't make sense if Professor Quirrell had found the troll in the dungeons.

"Sounds like somebody found the troll," someone to Draco's left murmured.

"Or the troll found them," another student added.

Suddenly, a huge crash shook the walls. It was so large that the candles overhead flickered and the bats squeaked and fluttered frantically overhead. When the bats' squeals died down, they could hear that the troll's roars had stopped.

"Well," said Farley dismissively, sitting down and serving herself more roast beef, "I suppose that's the end of that."


	8. Chapter 8: Potter and the Bucking Broom

**~ CHAPTER EIGHT: HARRY POTTER AND THE BUCKING BROOM ~**

After the roaring stopped, Professor Snape came to fetch the Slytherins and confirm that the troll had been found and captured. He was in a very irritable mood and limping rather heavily; in fact, he looked as though he might hex anyone who dared to ask him too many questions about what had happened. Therefore, Draco had to wait for his curiosity to be sated until the rumours started spreading.

Soon enough, Parkinson had gossip to share about what she heard had happened that night with the troll. Her story was that the troll had found its way from the dungeons to the second-floor girls' bathroom, where it had cornered Hermione Granger between a couple of the sinks. Potter and Weasley had heard her screams on the way to the Gryffindor dormitory and came to her rescue just in time, narrowly managing to knock out the troll before it could hurt her.

The story seemed entirely far-fetched to Draco. There had to be a few puzzle pieces missing from the story. The other students might've been content with accepting that a troll could break into Hogwarts, but Draco had read _Hogwarts: A History_ and knew that a creature as stupid as a troll would be unable to get inside without the help of a more intelligent being. Plus, Professor Quirrell had seemed convinced that the troll was in the dungeons, but not even twenty minutes later, the troll had been discovered on the second floor. Things just didn't add up. Not to mention that it was highly unlikely that two first years could knock out a fully-grown mountain troll by themselves, especially first years as untrained and blundering as Potter and Weasley. Surely they would've needed help? The only way Parkinson's story could be true was by blind, dumb luck.

Draco had so many other questions. What was Granger doing by herself on the second floor when all the other Gryffindors should've been in their common room? For that matter, what were Potter and Weasley doing there? They should've been with the Gryffindors, too. It was very strange that they happened to be in the right place at the right time to save Granger. What had they been doing near the girl's bathroom? Had they been spying on Granger? Maybe they had been planning on meeting her there for some reason. Had they been stupid enough to go after the troll deliberately?

Whatever the real story was, Draco was inclined to think that Parkinson's rumours were at least semi-accurate. Ever since Halloween, Potter and Weasley had a new addition to their group: Granger. Instead of eating and studying by herself, she ate with them, and the times that Draco saw Granger in the library, she was helping them with their homework. He became irked every time he saw them together. He didn't know why he cared; Potter was nothing without his fame, Weasley was a poor, stupid blood-traitor, and Granger was a filthy Mudblood. He hated all three of them with a burning passion. Yet it annoyed him to no end that Granger was suddenly best friends with Potter and Weasley. She was so much smarter than them; what did she gain from their company?

The upcoming Slytherin vs Gryffindor Quidditch game, the first of the season, just added Draco's irritation. He wanted to be excited, but his excitement was soured by the fact that Potter was the new Gryffindor Seeker. He couldn't get over how Potter had received special permission to play from Professor McGonagall; according to Parkinson, Potter was the youngest house player in over a century. Draco hoped more than anything that he had seen the extent of Potter's skills when they had fought over Longbottom's Remembrall. Maybe Potter's dive for the Remembrall had been a lucky fluke. After all, according to copious rumours from Parkinson, the boy had been raised by Muggles, with no contact from the wizarding world. How could he possibly play as well as the rest of the Quidditch players, many of whom had been flying for years?

A November chill had settled over the castle by Saturday morning. It was perfect weather for Quidditch: the sky was bright and clear, but it was cold enough that the players wouldn't overheat. Draco went down to the Great Hall early in an attempt to catch a peek at both Quidditch teams and assess their players.

He accessed the Slytherin team first. Marcus Flint, a burly sixth year, was the Captain and one of the Chasers. He was intimidating, with large crooked teeth, short hair, and the beginnings of a scraggly beard. The other two Chasers were Adrian Pucey and Graham Montague, second and third years respectively. Miles Bletchley was the Keeper, a stocky third year who would look right at home amongst the Weasleys with his shock of red hair. Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick were the Beaters, both fifth years. However, the team member Draco was most interested in was the Seeker, which was the position he had always dreamed of playing. The Slytherin Seeker, Terence Higgs, was a handsome seventh year with a strong jawline, tan skin, and dirty blond hair. Draco made a mental note to keep an eye on him during the game.

Next, Draco's eyes drifted over to the Gryffindor table. It was relatively easy to pick out the team, as they sat near each other. Their Captain and Keeper, Oliver Wood, was a handsome, muscular fifth year. He was talking animatedly to the Weasley twins, who looked as though they weren't paying any attention to his speech. The twins were third years and Beaters. Then their three Chasers were girls. Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were both attractive third years with dark brown skin and black hair; Spinnet's hair was in two plaits and Johnson's was in box braids, adorned with red and gold beads. The other Chaser, Katie Bell, was a pale brunette second year who seemed to be good friends with them.

Draco's eyes landed on Potter next, who sitting with Granger, Weasley, Finnigan, Thomas, and Longbottom. Granger and Finnigan were encouraging him to eat, but Potter was staring down at his toast, his normally brown skin looking slightly ashen as if he were feeling ill. He looked tiny and scrawny next to Wood, the Weasley twins, and the three Chasers. Draco's heart leapt with hope. Maybe the Gryffindors would get what was coming to them for breaking the rules and allowing a first year onto their team. With Potter's small build and inexperience, there was no way he could beat a strong, experienced seventh year like Higgs. He looked the exact opposite of Higgs's calm demeanour. The Slytherins had this game in the bag.

Crabbe and Goyle showed up for breakfast when students started leaving the hall about half an hour before the match. Draco waited impatiently for them to finish eating, and then the boys went down to the Quidditch pitch together. It looked as if the entire school had showed up for the game. The stands were splashed with a mixture of green, yellow, scarlet, and blue. A large banner the size of a bedsheet caught Draco's eye, and he immediately scowled. It said _Potter for President_ and had a Gryffindor lion on it with the paint flashing different colours.

"Looks like Potter's found himself a fan club," he grumbled to Crabbe and Goyle as they found their seats in the green and silver section of the stands. "Just wait until they see their _daring hero_ fall flat on his face; they won't be so quick to rally behind him then."

At eleven o'clock sharp, the teams streamed from the changing rooms to the middle of the field where Madam Hooch was waiting with her broom. The cheers from the stands were deafening. Once again, Draco was struck by how small Potter looked next to the other players on the field; he looked as though one good hit by a Bludger would finish him off. Wood and Flint shook hands and the teams mounted their brooms. Then Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the players pushed off into the air.

Watching Quidditch was one of Draco's favourite pastimes, and this game was no exception. The players quickly became a dizzying blur of green and scarlet, zipping through the air as the Quaffle was tossed back and forth. Meanwhile, Lee Jordan, a tall Gryffindor third year with shoulder-length dreadlocks, was announcing the game under the close supervision of Professor McGonagall.

« — a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve — now back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle — »

The stands where Draco was sitting exploded with cheers as Flint zipped towards the Gryffindor goalposts and lobbed a good shot. Boos quickly followed as Wood made an excellent diving save and tossed the Quaffle to Gryffindor Chaser Bell, who swerved round Flint and zipped off in the other direction. In retaliation, Bole hit a Bludger towards her which clocked her in the back of the head.

« OUCH, that must've hurt — and the Quaffle is taken by the Slytherins — that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Fred or George Weasley, can't tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway — »

Draco snorted, amused that even the Weasley twins' friend couldn't tell the twins apart. However, his amusement was short-lived as he realised that one of the Gryffindor Chasers was racing towards the Slytherin goalposts and had a clear shot at scoring. He crossed his fingers as Bletchley dived for the Quaffle, but it was too late; the Gryffindor side of the stands exploded in cheers while the Slytherin side was filled with boos and moans.

The Quaffle was tossed to Slytherin Chaser Montague and play resumed. As Draco scanned the game, he saw a tiny figure out of the corner of his eye. It was Potter, gliding high above the match, away from the bigger players and Bludgers. Just seeing Potter made him scowl. He looked like a good enough flyer, but until he saw him flying closer to the rest of the players, he wasn't willing to say for sure. He certainly didn't seem amazing enough to have special permission to play.

Draco angrily tore his eyes away from Potter to look for the Quaffle, but seconds later, he heard Jordan's magnified voice say, « Wait a moment — was that the Snitch? » and a small gasp rippled through the crowd.

Draco's eyes flitted back to Potter. The boy was already streaking downwards, neck and neck with Higgs. His breath caught in his throat; Potter's small stature seemed to be giving him the advantage now, as he was gaining on the other Seeker. The Slytherins around him were screaming angrily and Draco was on his feet. Any moment now and Potter was going to steal the game from them —

WHAM! Flint flew in front of Potter and blocked him, sending the much smaller boy spinning off course. Draco cheered as the Gryffindors booed and Madam Hooch blew her whistle. She lectured Flint before giving Gryffindor a free shot at the Slytherin goalposts, but to Draco, it was worth it. Even though they were now down twenty to nothing, they still had a chance if Higgs could get to the Snitch first.

Draco was determined to keep his eyes on the game and not on Potter. For several minutes, he succeeded. However, as the Quaffle continued to switch hands and nobody scored, his eyes drifted upwards to where he knew Potter was. When his eyes finally found him, he got the shock of his life: Potter was zigzagging haphazardly through the air, not unlike someone who had never flown before. He almost looked as if he had lost control of his broom.

 _What in Merlin's name is he doing?_ Draco thought, grabbing his binoculars and focusing on Potter. It looked as though his broom was shaking back and forth violently. In fact, if Draco didn't know any better, he would've said that the broom was trying to buck its rider off.

"Crabbe, Goyle," he exclaimed, reaching for one of their arms without taking his eyes off of Potter. "Crabbe! Goyle! Look at Potter! What is he doing? Crabbe? Goyle?"

Nobody was listening to him. All eyes were locked on the game as the Slytherins around him exploded into cheers; Flint had just scored for Slytherin to make the score twenty to ten in favour of Gryffindor. Draco punched Crabbe in the arm angrily to get his attention.

"Look, you idiot! What is Potter _doing?_ Doesn't the imbecile know how to fly?"

Suddenly, as Crabbe and Goyle looked at where Draco was pointing, Potter's broom began to roll over and over in the air. He looked as though he could barely keep himself from falling off. People all over the stadium were pointing and exclaiming, confused and terrified. Then Potter's broom gave a huge jerk and he swung off of it, dangling by one arm. The crowd gasped, and a few of the students screamed.

The game ground to a halt as the players hovered in mid-air, unsure of what to do. The crowd was on its feet. The Weasley twins tried unsuccessfully to pull Potter onto one of their brooms, but every time they tried to get closer, the broom jumped higher. Finally, the twins settled for dropping lower and circling beneath him to catch him if he fell. Meanwhile, Flint scored five times without most of the crowd noticing, bringing the score to sixty to twenty in favour of Slytherin.

Draco would've found the whole scene comical if he wasn't worried that Potter was going to fall and break his neck. Sure, he would've laughed if Potter had fallen from a shorter height and injured himself so that he wasn't able to play Quidditch for the rest of the school year. His subsequent injuries would make good fodder for making fun of him. But Potter would most likely die if he fell from the height at which his broom was currently, and that was a whole different Quidditch match. Expelled? Yes, please. Injured? All the better. But dead?

Draco hated Potter's guts, but he didn't _really_ want him dead.

"Come on, Potter, you horrible, awful, insufferable git," he muttered, his knuckles white where he was gripping his binoculars. "Get back on your broom. You can fall off your broom later for all I care, just get back on your bloody broom so we can finish the stupid match."

As if on cue, Potter climbed back onto his broom, looking shaken but otherwise okay. The crowd began to cheer. Potter turned and headed towards the ground, as if expecting a time-out, and the Gryffindor players followed suit. Suddenly Potter covered his mouth with his hand as if he were about to throw up. He hit the ground on all fours, doubled over; the crowd was back on its feet as his team landed nearby, hurrying to his aid. Before they could reach him, however, he coughed and the Snitch landed in his hand.

« I've got the Snitch! » Potter shouted, waving it in the air, and the game was over.

It was the most confusing and infuriating Quidditch game Draco had ever seen, and he had seen a lot of Quidditch games. Lee Jordan was happily shouting that Gryffindor had beaten Slytherin one hundred and seventy points to sixty, and the Gryffindors were celebrating rambunctiously. However, the Slytherins were furious. Flint leapt off his broom and stormed up to Madam Hooch. Draco could read Flint's lips through his binoculars:

"How is that a legal move? That wasn't a bloody catch, he nearly _swallowed_ it! That can't be legal! I call foul play!"

Draco was equally furious. One second, he'd been worried that Potter was going to break his neck, and the next second, Potter had nearly swallowed the Snitch instead of catching it. It almost made him wish that Potter had fallen off of his broom, after all. He couldn't believe that Potter had managed to win the game and play the part of the hero after all of his broom troubles. Did Potter's good luck ever cease? How in the world did catching the Snitch in his mouth count as a legal way to win the game?

Fuming, Draco threw his binoculars on the ground and stomped on them. It didn't matter if they were broken; he would write home to his parents and ask for another even nicer pair.


	9. Chapter 9: Christmas at the Manor

**~ CHAPTER NINE: CHRISTMAS AT THE MANOR ~**

Things didn't get better as the days went on. The Gryffindors walked around with their chests puffed out with pride, and people talked about Potter in the corridors even more than they had before, if such a thing were possible. Draco swore that if he heard one more person talking about how wonderful Potter was at flying, he would personally escort their head into the nearest toilet. The worst part was that it was becoming more and more difficult to find people who agreed with his hatred of the Boy Who Lived. He concocted some hilarious jokes about how Potter would be replaced by a wide-mouthed tree frog as Seeker, but to his surprise, his jokes were not well-received. Crabbe and Goyle had had a good guffaw, and Parkinson had cackled with delight, but even they could only listen to the same joke so many times before it got boring.

Draco fished around for another topic. Eventually, he landed on the boy's lack of a proper family. Living with Muggles seemed like a nice topic to taunt him about. It was becoming more and more of a timely joke, too, as November turned into December and discussions of Christmas plans popped up in regular conversation. Draco was looking forward to going back to the Manor, so when he saw the list of students staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, he had a good snicker at their expense. Potter's and Weasley's names were near the top of the list. He used it to fuel his jokes about Potter's family every chance he got, especially during Potions because he knew Professor Snape wouldn't stop him.

Then, two days before the holidays, Draco got an early Christmas present. On his way out of the last Potions class of the semester, he came upon Potter and Weasley talking to Hagrid, who was holding a huge fir tree in his arms. Taking his chance, he sauntered up to them and drawled,

« Trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be a gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose — that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to. »

His insult worked wonders. Weasley's face turned maroon and contorted instantly. However, Draco wasn't expecting Weasley to leap at him; his pulse skyrocketed as Weasley's hands closed around the front of his robes. He was very relieved when he heard Professor Snape yell « WEASLEY! » an instant later, causing Weasley to let go of him.

The fir tree shifted and Hagrid's face appeared, frowning in the direction of Professor Snape and Draco. « He was provoked, Professor Snape. Malfoy was insultin' his family. »

If the smirk on Professor Snape's face was any indication, he didn't care what Draco had done. « Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid, » Professor Snape said smoothly. « Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you. »

Smirking, Draco beckoned Crabbe and Goyle to follow him and pushed past the fir tree as roughly as possible, delighting in how many needles he knocked off in the process. Ah, yes, Christmas was definitely on its way!

The boys dropped their books off in the dormitory before heading upstairs to the Great Hall for lunch. Like the rest of the castle, the Great Hall was beautifully decorated for the holiday season. Twelve Christmas trees towered around the edges of the hall. The house tables had long centrepieces of holly and golden candles, while wreaths hung from the front of the High Table and each professor's chair was crowned with a garland of pine. Soon, food appeared in the dishes along the tables, filling the Great Hall with the smell of a superb pre-holiday feast. Draco helped himself to a handful of turkey sandwiches and ladled them with gravy. They were so delicious that Draco almost wished he was staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, if only for the Christmas Day Feast.

After lunch, Draco bundled up and followed a group of Slytherin first years out to the snow-covered grounds, where they had a massive snowball fight and dared each other to walk out onto the frozen lake. Dinner was another wonderful pre-feast, followed by a karaoke session in the Slytherin common room in front of the fire. Draco didn't sing along, but he sat in one of the high-backed chairs and watched the festivities with a growing contented sleepiness. Crabbe shook him awake as people began to troop off to their rooms. As Draco drifted off to sleep again, this time in his own bed, it was with a peace that he hadn't experienced in a long time.

Draco slept in late the next day. Then, since it was the last day of term, he spent some time packing one of his trunks with the possessions he would need over the holidays. Another day of snowball fights and holiday food passed. Next thing he knew, it was morning. He gave his trunk and Abraxas II's cage to some Hogwarts house-elves and stood in the entrance hall with Crabbe, Goyle, and the rest of the Slytherin first years, waiting to leave for home. Professor McGonagall was at the front of the crowd by the door, looking distinctly ruffled and snapping at any students who dared to get too rowdy. When she was sure everyone was there, she pushed open the doors. Around a hundred horseless carriages were waiting for them in the snow. Draco grabbed a carriage with Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott, and soon they arrived at the station where the Hogwarts Express was waiting for them.

The landscape flashing by the train windows looked much different covered in snow. The boys shared a compartment and passed the time by eating from the large pile of Christmas treats bought from the trolley witch. Somewhere in the middle of the day, Draco drifted off; next thing he knew, Nott was shaking him awake as a darkening London scene flashed past their compartment windows. Excitement coursed through his veins. He was finally going to see his parents again! He missed them immensely, especially his mother.

The boys changed out of their robes as the train began to slow. When the train pulled to a stop at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, descending from the train was slow-going. Draco clutched his trunk and Abraxas II's empty cage close to him, fighting not to be swept away by the jostling crowd. Finally, over people's heads, Draco saw his parents waiting for him, along with Nott's father. Crabbe and Goyle grunted their goodbyes and set off to find their parents, while Nott followed Draco. As soon as they reached their parents, Lucius took Draco's belongings, while Narcissa scooped him up in a bone-crushing hug.

"Oh, I've missed you so much!" she whispered in his ear, before pulling away and beaming at her son. "Look at how much you've grown!" She motioned to the empty owl cage Lucius was holding. "Abraxas II is waiting for you at home. Alfred and the other peafowl have missed you, too. And wait until you see the new Christmas decorations your father has put up! They're simply splendid. Aren't they, dear?" she added to Lucius.

Lucius looked over his shoulder impatiently at the growing line by the King's Cross Floo Networks. "Yes, yes, but we can catch up later. Let us get home sooner rather than later so that we don't have to wait in line."

Draco's holiday spirit deflated a little at his father's impatience, but his spirits lifted again as his mother ruffled his hair and took his hand. They said goodbye to the Notts and joined the ranks of witches and wizards waiting for the Floo, and soon enough, they stepped out into the dining room of Malfoy Manor. Draco let out a contented sigh as house-elves scurried to take Draco's trunk and Abraxas II's cage from Lucius's arms.

It was good to be home.

Draco walked slowly away from the fireplace, letting his eyes travel across the room. His mother was right; the new decorations were splendid. The long dining room table had a beautiful centrepiece of pine and golden candles, far more elegant than the centrepieces at Hogwarts. The fireplace was draped with frosted pine garlands, while delicate ornaments of white, gold, and silver decorated the mantelpiece.

Draco moved out of the dining room and onto the landing. Pine garlands, wrapped in creamy gold silk, adorned the banisters of the staircases. He turned to the right, away from the stairs leading to the upper floors and towards the middle of the landing, the drawing room doors on his right and a set of stairs going down on his left. He descended the stairs into the main hall. His breath caught in his throat; the decorations were even more beautiful here. Mini Christmas trees lined the sides of the room. A large Christmas tree stood on either side of the staircase, while potted white poinsettias adorned the sides of the stairs. The portraits had crowns of pine garlands around their frames.

"Come see the drawing room," his mother said from behind him on the landing, pushing open the drawing room doors.

Draco went back up the stairs into the drawing room. It was decorated similarly to the other rooms: pine garlands around the paintings and the fireplace, an elaborate centrepiece on the drawing room table, and ornaments along the mantelpiece.

"But I'd say the best room is the sitting room," Narcissa said, beckoning to him.

Draco followed her out onto the landing and to the right, where there was another staircase leading to the upper floors on the left and a door to the sitting room on the right. His eyes lit up when they entered the sitting room. The grand piano in the left-hand corner was adorned with delicate decorations and unlit candles, while a massive Christmas tree took up the right-hand corner, glittering with ornaments made of gold, silver, and precious jewels. In the right wall, the massive carved stone fireplace was draped with pine garlands and silk bows, while the curtains in the left wall were open wide to let in the moonlight through the diamond panes.

"It's beautiful," he breathed, turning to his mother and giving her a hug. "So much better than Hogwarts. I'm glad I came home."

She squeezed him tight before letting go. "I'm glad you did, too. Dinner will be ready soon. Oh, and Dobby is upstairs getting your room in order." She frowned. "It should have been done sooner. He needs to be punished. Let him know that, won't you?"

Draco nodded and left, ascending the stairs directly across from the sitting room. His bedroom was on the top floor in one of the largest towers. There he found Dobby, the Malfoys' primary house-elf, magicking away the dust on his bookshelves. His huge canopy bed was already made with fresh silk sheets and his trunk lay empty next to his walk-in closet, as Dobby had already put away all of his belongings. As soon as the house-elf saw him, he squeaked and rushed to bow down at his feet.

"Dobby is sorry that Dobby didn't finish cleaning young master Draco's room before he arrived, sir," Dobby said, raising his head slightly and twisting his long ears. "Young master deserves a clean room to welcome him home. Dobby should know better. Dobby should be out of sight, out of mind, sir."

Draco flopped down on his bed, realising suddenly how exhausted he was.

"Shut up," he said wearily, and Dobby stopped talking abruptly. After a few seconds, Draco rolled over to see that Dobby was still standing in the doorway looking at him. "See if dinner is ready yet. And Mother says you need to give yourself extra punishments tonight for your disobedience."

Dobby nodded so vigorously that his ears flapped. "Yes, sir, Dobby will do that, sir. Dobby is incredibly sorry, sir. Dobby is a bad house-elf and a disgrace to the Malfoy name."

"Dobby, shut up and go!"

Dobby scurried away. Draco heard him banging his head against the wall as a punishment, followed by a _crack_ as he Apparated to the kitchens. He rolled over onto his back and closed his eyes. _Stupid house-elf_ , he thought. Draco supposed that maybe later he would call Dobby into his room to rant to him about Potter and all of the bad things that had happened at Hogwarts so far, before sending him off to punish himself again.

Dobby Apparated into his room a few minutes later to announce that dinner was ready, so Draco went down to the dining room where his parents were already waiting. The house-elves had out-done themselves; dinner was superb, including homemade cranberry sauce and a huge turkey and vegetable pie, with plum pudding for dessert. Draco was so full and happy to be home that he went to bed soon after and fell into a deep sleep.

The next day was Christmas Eve. Draco spent half the day ranting to Dobby about Potter and how unfair it was that he got special treatment due to a stupid scar on his forehead. He paced about his room and moved his arms while he ranted, while Dobby sat silently on his trunk by his walk-in closet. When Draco finally tired himself out, he ordered Dobby to leave before going outside to play in the snow. He was happy to be home, but it was kind of lonely building a snow-wizard by himself. The nearest neighbouring kids were miles away down the road and he'd never met them because they were Muggles.

When Draco bored of that, he summoned Dobby outside to toss snowballs into the air as practice for catching Snitch-sized objects while flying. It was harder than it looked. He silently cursed Potter as he trudged back inside, frustrated and covered in snow. How had Potter caught the Snitch in his _mouth_ against Slytherin, when Draco could hardly catch a snowball? It had to have been pure luck. There was no other explanation.

Christmas dawned bright and early the next day. More snow had fallen overnight. Draco leapt out of bed and hurried down the dark corridor in his pyjamas.

"Mother! Father! Wake up!" he exclaimed, banging on the master bedroom door. "It's Christmas!"

As soon as he heard the tell-tale muttering and groaning of his mother and father as they pulled themselves out of bed, Draco turned on his heel and hurried downstairs. Though his parents were morning people, it was still quite early to be awake; Draco had been too excited about the prospect of presents to give them a moment more of rest.

He burst into the sitting room and gasped in delight. The house-elves had already lit the fire in the fireplace and opened the curtains, shedding light on the massive Christmas tree and the huge pile of presents underneath it. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, waiting impatiently for his parents. Finally, Narcissa and Lucius arrived and sat down in the chairs the house-elves had pulled up to the tree. Draco grinned and dived into the pile of presents.

The first present he opened was a new pair of binoculars, to replace the ones he'd broken in a rage after the last Quidditch match. It was followed by three books on Quidditch and a new broomstick cleaning kit. The books and kit made him all the more convinced that he would get the new racing broom he'd wanted at the beginning of the school year, although he couldn't see anything under the tree that was shaped like a broomstick. His father was probably waiting to bring out the racing broom as the grand finale. The next present was a beautiful, ornate wizarding watch, followed by more books, this time about Potions.

Draco picked up the next present and gasped in surprise at how heavy it was. His father's eyes glinted mischievously.

"Open it," Lucius said, leaning forward. "This one is from me."

Draco tore off the wrapping paper. It was a huge leather-bound book with gold lettering on the front that said _The Complete Beginners Guide to the Dark Arts and How to Use Them_ by Vaurien Furcifer.

"I thought, since you have started your wizarding training at Hogwarts, it's time for you to start learning more about the Dark Arts," Lucius said, sounding excited. "This is the best book out there for the beginner. I had to visit several shops before I could find a copy."

Draco hugged it to his chest. The gift meant all the more to him knowing that his father had gone to such lengths to find it. "Thank you, Father!"

Lucius smiled and sat back in his chair, looking pleased.

Next, Draco opened a huge box of Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, and Pumpkin Pasties. He unwrapped a pair of beautiful winter gloves, more books, elegant dark green and silver robes, and some socks. His pile also held a hideous fluffy olive green and grey scarf from Parkinson, generic-brand sweets from Crabbe and Goyle, and a set of feather quills from Nott, each from a different species of bird. All that was left was a small package around the size of a golf ball and a few presents addressed to his parents.

Draco picked up the golf ball-sized package. It was wrapped in coloured paper that had Quidditch players zooming back and forth through a snow-filled sky. He unwrapped it to find a small Golden Snitch that spread its wings and fluttered them when he took it in his hand. There was a small note inside the package that said _IOU_ in Lucius's calligraphy.

"What is this?" Draco asked slowly.

"Ah, that is a promise to buy you a racing broom," Lucius said hastily, seeing the look on Draco's face.

"So you didn't buy me one?" Draco was crestfallen. His voice rose in pitch and he could feel his face turning red. "That was the one thing I _really wanted!"_

"Sweetheart, we just haven't bought you a new racing broom _yet_ ," Narcissa soothed. "Your father thought that you would want to come with him to pick it out so that you are one-hundred percent satisfied with it. Isn't that right, dear?" she added, sending daggers at her husband with her eyes.

"Yes, yes, of course," said Lucius. "That was the plan."

Draco could feel his tantrum subsiding. "Oh." He turned the Golden Snitch over in his palm, feeling its silver wings tickle his skin. So _this_ is what it felt like to catch a Snitch. It was quite pleasant.

"That Golden Snitch is yours now," Lucius said. "I had to handle it with gloves so that you would be the first to touch it. They have flesh memory, you know, so that it can tell who touched it first in case of a dispute during a game. The full rules of Quidditch are in one of the books you got. It's the newest edition, since they're always adding and making changes to the official rules."

"Thanks, Father," Draco said, turning the Snitch over again and watching it retract its wings into its shell. He sat back and looked at the carnage of ripped wrapping paper, boxes, and presents strewn across the ornate carpet, feeling sad that it was already over.

Narcissa stood up as if reading his mind. "Actually, I have one more present for you two." She walked across the sitting room and opened the doors.

Two large puppies bounded into the room. One of them ran straight up to Draco and tried to lick his face, while the other one leapt and scrabbled at Lucius's chair. Lucius hastily scooped up the puppy so that it wouldn't claw on the furniture, but he failed at hiding his joy and surprise as he held the excited puppy in his lap.

"They're Scottish deerhounds," Narcissa explained to Lucius, sitting back down with a huge smile on her face. "I know you like to hunt, and deerhounds are great hunting dogs. I figured when the dogs are older, you and Draco can go out hunting with them."

Lucius smiled at her and took her hand, kissing it softly. "They're perfect, dear."

His parents opened their small pile of presents as Draco rolled on the floor with his new puppy, laughing as it licked his face. Soon his mother unwrapped her last gift, a delicate silver necklace sparkling with emeralds. "Oh, Lucius," she whispered, "it's beautiful."

Lucius helped her clasp it behind her neck and kissed her cheek, cupping her face with his hand. "Only the best for my queen."

The day was one of Draco's best Christmases ever. Lucius was in such a good mood that he agreed to have a snowball fight with his son without too much begging on Draco's part. It lasted nearly an hour and ended with them laying in the snow side by side, laughing and trying to catch their breath. Then Lucius and Narcissa helped Draco make a family for his snow-wizard, complete with two snow-puppies that looked suspiciously like Scottish deerhounds. Next, Draco helped his parents feed the peafowl and the owls, before they went inside to warm up.

Christmas dinner was mid-day, and in Draco's opinion, it gave the feasts at Hogwarts a run for their money. The house-elves had worked all night and into the morning to put it together. The dining room table was stacked with roasted turkeys, goose and vegetable pies, chestnut stuffing, mounds of potatoes, buttered peas, tureens of rich gravy, and silver bowls of cranberry sauce. When Draco had eaten so much he was afraid he would burst, the house-elves scurried out with a huge flaming Christmas pudding, complete with a creamy brandy-custard sauce.

After dinner, the Malfoys moved upstairs, where there was a living room with yet another fireplace — they had so many that all of the chimneys were interconnected for convenience — and a large wizarding radio on the mantel. Lucius turned on the annual Christmas Quidditch game, which, as was traditional, was the Appleby Arrows vs the Wimbourne Wasps. Then Lucius sat on the couch and Narcissa rested her head on his shoulder while Draco sat near the radio with his new puppy asleep on his lap.

The rest of Christmas break passed similarly. After a short discussion, Lucius agreed to let Draco name the dogs Bludger and Quaffle. Quaffle slept in a fluffy green dog bed in Draco's room and loved to play catch, hence his name. Bludger, on the other hand, was prone to getting overly excited and knocking things over, just like an aggressive Quidditch ball. Lucius started to train the puppies to be well-behaved hunters right away. Meanwhile, Draco spent much of his free time curled up in an armchair by the fire reading his new books and eating his Christmas sweets. It was wonderful and Draco didn't want it to end.

Alas, all too soon, Draco had to pack his trunk, close Abraxas II in his cage, and say a tearful goodbye to his puppy, Quaffle. On the morning of his return to Hogwarts, he walked slowly downstairs to the dining room, where breakfast was ready and his parents were waiting for him.

"I wish I could stay one more day," Draco grumbled, stabbing at his eggs.

Lucius shook out his newspaper and peered over the top of it at his son. "Ah, but it will be good to be back, see all your friends again, and continue your studies, no?"

"I suppose." Draco cut into his toast viciously.

Lucius went back to reading the paper. "I'm expecting great things from you," he said as he absentmindedly flipped to the next page. He looked back over the newspaper and gave his son a rare smile. "You're a Malfoy, and Malfoys have always been successful. Just keep working hard and focus on your studies."

Draco felt the familiar lump in his throat that he always got when he became choked up. "I will, Father, I promise."

Then the house-elves scurried in to take their plates. Everything seemed to pass so quickly after breakfast: the Malfoys Flooed to King's Cross, Draco met up with the other Slytherins, they said goodbye to their parents, and then the Hogwarts Express began its long journey back to Hogwarts.

Draco sighed and looked out the train window, watching the houses flash past. As much as he'd thought he would enjoy Hogwarts, Christmas break had been so much more enjoyable than his studies. He loved his parents more than anything in the world. Leaving them for Hogwarts was so much harder the second time around.


	10. Chapter 10: Brawl with a Weasel

**~ CHAPTER TEN: BRAWL WITH A WEASEL ~**

The start-of-term coincided with endless pouring rain that soaked the grounds and left anyone who dared to step foot outside drenched within seconds. At first, the weather hardly bothered Draco. Christmas break left him with a residual happiness, which his presents reminded him of continuously. However, as the days dragged on and continued to dawn grey, gloomy, and water-logged, he could feel his spirits following suit.

Then one night, as he was sitting near the fire in the Slytherin common room working on a star chart for Astronomy, Parkinson came up to his chair, looking decidedly displeased. "Hey, Draco?"

Draco tightened his grip on his quill.

"Merlin, Parkinson, how many times do I have to tell you not to interrupt me when I'm working?"

"Oh, sorry." It was obvious that whether she remembered him telling her that or not, it wasn't going to deter her from her mission. "It's just, I've just heard some bad news from Millicent, who heard it from Tracey, who heard it from Gemma, who heard it from Adelaide, who heard it from her boyfriend Lucian —"

"Spit it out, Parkinson, I haven't got all day. This star chart isn't going to finish itself."

"Well…they're saying that if Gryffindor wins this next Quidditch match against Hufflepuff, they'll move ahead of Slytherin in the running for the House Cup!"

That caught Draco's interest. " _What?_ How can you be sure?"

Parkinson smirked in the way that she did when delivering particularly sensational or juicy gossip. If there was one thing she was good at, it was gossiping.

"Trust me, Draco, it's accurate," she said. Leaning against his armchair and putting an unwanted arm on his shoulder, she added coyly, "After all, I'd never lie to someone as intelligent and talented as you."

Draco shook her arm off of his shoulder impatiently. Maybe it was the recent trip home to the Manor that had put his worries at Hogwarts into perspective, but his mind was already whirring, processing the information Parkinson had given him. The Gryffindors couldn't move ahead of Slytherin. He wasn't sure if there was much he could do, but he was going to try.

Draco lingered at the front of the class after the next Potions lesson, telling Crabbe and Goyle to go on ahead. He had formulated his plan in his head over the past couple of days, but he still wasn't sure how to put it into action. He was going to talk to Professor Snape; that's what his father had recommended to do, and he had no other ideas.

Professor Snape was sitting at his desk, grading papers with lazy flicks of his wand. After a few seconds, as Draco shifted awkwardly and wondered how to begin, the Potions Master looked up. The corner of his mouth twitched as though he were holding back a knowing smirk.

"Yes, Draco?" Professor Snape said. "I assume you are not hanging about for an amicable chat."

"Yes, sir, I have something to ask. I heard that Gryffindor will move ahead of us for the House Cup if they win their next match against Hufflepuff, and so I thought I should come to you."

Professor Snape put down his wand and folded his hands together. "Draco, I can assure you that I do not want Gryffindor to move ahead of Slytherin any more than you do. I am already doing everything in my power to prevent it from happening."

"But sir —"

"The Headmaster has already agreed that I can referee the next Quidditch match instead of Professor McGonagall. Surely that is enough?"

Draco closed his mouth. He supposed that having the Head of the Slytherin house refereeing the match was as close to preventing the Gryffindors from winning as they could reach. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Professor Snape flicked his wand lazily and the door to the Potions classroom swung open. "Now I would love to have a chat, Draco, but unless you have any other requests, I am quite busy at the moment."

Draco left the classroom reluctantly. He knew he should feel relieved that Professor Snape had things covered, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Potter's luck with the Snitch could spell the end of Slytherin's House Championship streak.

The nagging feeling followed him, wearing down Draco's nerves as the weeks dragged on. January turned into an equally dreary February, and his mood worsened tremendously when he got back his most recent Defence Against the Dark Arts essay and saw the less than satisfactory grade written in purple ink at the top, the same colour as Professor Quirrell's stupid turban. He never got bad grades! Just because he had written about some of the _benefits_ of the Dark Arts instead of the _drawbacks_ didn't mean he should've been marked down! Draco fumed at his roll of parchment. Maybe his father was right, and he should've gone to Durmstrang instead, where the Dark Arts were taught and celebrated instead of condemned.

Worried about what his father would say if he saw a bad mark and pushed by a drive to prove his pure-blood excellence, Draco dug down and worked harder in Defence Against the Dark Arts, regardless of how much he hated or disagreed with the class. Soon, he got his chance to catch up on points when Professor Quirrell assigned some optional extra credit questions. He worked on them every chance he got, heading up to the library during breaks and secluding himself in his own little corner of the stacks.

A few days before the impending Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff match, Draco was working in the library like normal during an afternoon break. However, his mind kept wandering and his eyes glazed over. Finally, he gave up for the day. He scooped all of the books into a neat pile and placed them on the table near the door for Madam Pince to reshelve. He would have to continue digging around if he wanted to find the last two answers to the extra credit questions, but his mind was too full of worry and stress to concentrate any longer.

As Draco walked out of the library, he saw Longbottom walking towards him. Longbottom froze in his tracks, looking like a deer caught by a misdirected freezing spell. A feeling of burning contempt rose up in Draco. Speaking of that blasted Quidditch match, here came one of the most un-Gryffindor-like Gryffindors he'd ever met in his life.

"Well if it isn't Longbottom," he sneered, going in for the kill. "Fancy seeing you here; I figured you didn't know what a library was, considering your abysmal grades. Tell me, what is it like, having the magical talent of a Squib?"

Longbottom turned bright red and spluttered incoherently.

Draco laughed. Insulting Longbottom made him feel better already. "What's the matter, Longbottom, curse got your tongue? Don't worry, I can remedy that. I have the perfect counter-curse."

Before Longbottom could do anything except look terrified, Draco whipped out his wand and said the first curse that came to mind. " _Locomotor Mortis!"_

Longbottom's legs snapped together instantly. Draco roared with laughter at the look on the idiot's face as he struggled to form coherent words.

Finally, Draco composed himself, chuckling as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "Thanks, Longbottom, I've been looking for someone to practice that on. I heard one of the professors say it was too hard for a first year to learn, but I take that as a personal challenge. You know, it's a shame you were placed in Gryffindor. I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, but I suppose the Sorting Hat was at a loss with where to place you. You don't have the ambition or cunning of a Slytherin, the thirst for knowledge of a Ravenclaw, or the bravery of a Gryffindor. Funny, I guess even Hufflepuff didn't want you."

Draco relished the way the Longbottom's face turned dark purple and started quivering as if he was going to cry.

"Have fun trying to get back to your common room."

Then, laughing and feeling the stress lift off of his shoulders, Draco sauntered off towards the dungeons to take a break before dinner. However, the stress and anxiety returned in full force by the time dinner was over and he had to go back to his piles of homework. He put his head on his desk and groaned. Merlin, he was going to be glad when this blasted Quidditch game was over.

Finally, the day of the Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff match dawned bright and early. The rain and gloomy clouds had given way to feeble sunshine and fluffy pale grey clouds that drifted like slugs across the sky. However, the ground was still muddy and squelched with each step as the students headed towards the Quidditch field.

As Draco climbed into the stands, Crabbe and Goyle in tow, he scanned the crowd. Crabbe and Goyle looked as though they wanted to sit in their normal spot near the Slytherins, but Draco was still in a bad mood and wanted to find somebody to take it out on. His eyes landed on a patch of scarlet, where he found Weasley, Granger, and Longbottom sitting together.

Perfect.

"Let's go over there," he said, pointing in the Gryffindors' direction.

Before Crabbe or Goyle could protest, Draco swerved and pushed his way through the crowd towards the Gryffindors. By the time that he reached them, the Quidditch teams had already pushed off into the air and Weasley was chatting with Granger. Draco felt an unexplainable flash of anger towards the redhead. He jabbed him forcefully in the back of the head as the boys settled down behind the Gryffindors. Weasley exclaimed and whipped around to face him, looking extremely irritated.

« Oh, sorry, Weasley, didn't see you there, » Draco sneered. He turned to Crabbe and Goyle and grinned broadly. « Wonder how long Potter's going to stay on his broom this time. Anyone want to bet? What about you, Weasley? »

To his annoyance, however, Weasley had already turned back to the game. It was funny; both Weasley and Granger seemed unusually grim and preoccupied with the game. Maybe they believed that Potter was going to fall again. Draco felt his spirits lift. Even Potter's friends didn't believe in his Quidditch abilities!

Draco sat down behind the Gryffindors and tried to focus on the game, but it was quite boring. At least in the Slytherin vs Gryffindor game, the game had felt quick and full of action because of the intense rivalry between the two houses. In this game, however, there was almost no tension, and the Hufflepuff players were too nice to hurt anyone. The only fouls were going to the Gryffindor players, and Draco suspected that was partly because Professor Snape was refereeing.

As Hufflepuff scored again to bring the score to thirty to zero in favour of Hufflepuff, Draco found his eyes being drawn back to Granger and Weasley in front of him. They were sitting far too close for his liking, with a few of Granger's tight brown curls resting lightly on Weasley's shoulder. His stomach twisted. Another insult floated up into his head, and as Snape rewarded Hufflepuff another penalty, he cleared his throat and said loudly,

« You know how I think they choose people for the Gryffindor team? It's the people they feel sorry for. See, there's Potter, who's got no parents, then there's the Weasleys, who've got no money — you should be on the team, Longbottom, you've got no brains. »

To his surprise and annoyance, Longbottom was the only one who turned towards him, while Granger and Weasley kept their eyes on the game.

« I-I'm worth t-twelve of you, Malfoy, » Longbottom stammered, turning maroon.

Draco roared with laughter, as did Crabbe and Goyle. Making fun of Longbottom almost made up for his bad mood. However, even Draco's laughter didn't fully capture Weasley and Granger's attention. His irritation rose. If there was one thing he hated, it was being ignored.

« Longbottom, if brains were gold you'd be poorer than Weasley, and that's saying something, » Draco said, trying again.

Weasley didn't turn around, but to Draco's delight, the boy's next words sounded strained. « I'm warning you, Malfoy — one more word — »

Suddenly, Granger spoke up, but it wasn't aimed towards Draco.

« Ron! Harry —! »

« What? Where? » Weasley exclaimed.

As Granger stood up and crossed her fingers, Draco stood up, too, craning around her for a better look. Potter was streaking towards the ground, presumably in hot pursuit of the Snitch. Frustration over being ignored welled up in Draco and he sneered, « You're in luck, Weasley, Potter's obviously spotted some money on the ground! »

Satisfaction rushed through him as Weasley whirled on the spot to face him, but it was short-lived. Before he knew what was happening, Weasley was on top of him and wrestling him to the ground.

"What the hell, Weasley?" Draco yelled as he frantically tried to escape Weasley's grasp.

"I — warned — you — Malfoy —" was his response before Draco landed a well-aimed punch and blood spurted from Weasley's nose.

It was one of Draco's only punches that made their mark. He hadn't expected Weasley to be such a good fighter, and he had been banking on Crabbe and Goyle to back him up if he ever got into a fight. Dimly, as the boys rolled under the seats and Draco struggled valiantly, he wondered why his allies hadn't pulled Weasley off of him yet. Then one of Weasley's punches landed in his face and all of his attention was brought back to fighting Weasley.

Students leapt out of the way as the boys bumped into their legs. Draco hit his head against the bottom of one of the bleacher seats and hissed in pain, struggling to prevent Weasley from pinning him to the ground. Every time it seemed as if Weasley had him pinned, Draco barely managed to wrest himself free. However, even with Weasley's bloody nose dripping everywhere, it was obvious Weasley was winning. Draco could feel his eye swelling where Weasley had hit him in the face, his head throbbed from hitting the bleachers, and his ribs would definitely be bruised by morning.

 _Where in the bloody hell are Crabbe and Goyle?!_

As if on cue, he felt strong arms grip his shoulders and pull him up. Through the swelling of his eye, he could see Goyle was doing the same to Weasley. All around them, students dressed in scarlet were leaping up and down and cheering. Weasley pulled away from Goyle and ran over to Granger, engulfing her in a big hug while jumping up and down, still bleeding profusely from his bruised nose.

Draco yanked himself from Crabbe's arms, whipping around to nail him with a glare.

"Where were you guys?!" he yelled. "Why would you leave me to be assaulted by that weasel? You're supposed to have my back! What did you do, just watch it happen?!"

Crabbe looked confused and slightly nervous, shooting a glance at Goyle over Draco's left shoulder. "No, boss, we was takin' care of Longbottom."

Draco whipped around and raised an eyebrow at Goyle. " _Longbottom?"_

Goyle nodded and gestured towards the Gryffindors. Weasley was pointing towards a lump of scarlet-adorned robes on the ground as Granger looked from Weasley's bleeding nose to the robes in horror. As she rushed to the aid of the motionless pile of robes, Goyle said unhelpfully, "Longbottom tried to 'elp Weasley, so now 'e's out cold."

Far from feeling grateful, Draco felt his incredulity rise. "And it took _both of you_ to fight someone as useless as Longbottom? Seriously?"

Now both of his allies looked uncomfortable.

"Well, we thought —"

"No, that's the problem, Crabbe, you didn't think," Draco snapped. "Why would you think teaming up on Longbottom was a good idea when I was being pummelled by Weasley? One punch would've been sufficient to polish Longbottom off! It wasn't a job that needed two of you! And meanwhile, it was obvious I needed help, and you spent all of your energy on Longbottom? For Merlin's sake, you two are hopeless!"

As Crabbe and Goyle looked sheepishly at him, Draco became aware of his surroundings for the first time. The stands around them were full of cheering students, while the Gryffindor team was on the ground below in a huge pile, carrying Potter on their shoulders. In fact, a handful of Gryffindor students had spilled out onto the field to join the team in their celebration. Meanwhile, the Hufflepuff team was walking off towards the changing rooms, their shoulders slumped.

"The game is over already?" Draco asked, facing his allies once again. "But — but that has to be a record! How did Potter catch the Snitch already? And that means Gryffindor — that means they're in the lead! They've passed us up!"

When Crabbe and Goyle didn't reply, Draco swore loudly and kicked the bleachers as hard as he could, then swore again as his foot throbbed painfully.

"Come on, you imbeciles," he grumbled, limping off towards the bleacher stairs. "I need to go to Madam Pomfrey for this black eye before it gets any worse. Merlin, I'm gonna kill Weasley for this!"


	11. Chapter 11: The Illegal Dragon

**~ CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE ILLEGAL DRAGON ~**

Thankfully, Draco managed to avoid Weasley while he got patched up in the hospital wing, since the Gryffindors were still celebrating their win out on the Quidditch pitch. Better still, Madam Pomfrey didn't ask him any awkward questions about how he got a black eye and bruised head, foot, and ribs, even though he could feel unspoken disapproval coming off of her in waves. She gave him a foul-tasting potion to swallow and sent him on his way, where he slouched off to the dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle to avoid seeing any of the Gryffindors. Then he holed himself in his room with his books and homework and thought of nasty ways to get back at Weasley for humiliating him.

However, Draco didn't dwell on the Weasley incident for long, and before he knew what was happening, Easter break had come and gone. The professors were slowly piling more and more assignments on top of their students' already large workload; Draco spent most of his time in the library or in the Slytherin common room, doggedly slogging through it. Final exams were creeping ever-nearer, as well. Reluctantly, he added studying on top of his homework, silently cursing his perfectionist mentality that kept him working late into the night until he was sure he had done his best on every assignment.

Draco awoke late the next day after a particularly long study session, and because of his insistence of getting a shower and not skimping on any of his usual morning routine, he nearly missed breakfast. The Great Hall was half-empty when he arrived. As he swept past the Gryffindor table, where it was obvious Weasley and Granger were in the middle of an argument, he caught the tail end of Granger's strained words:

« — got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing — »

Without meaning to, Draco froze in his tracks. However, they had dropped their voices and it was impossible to hear any more. After a few more seconds of unsuccessful eavesdropping, Draco walked the rest of the way to the Slytherin table deep in thought. So, Granger was worried about something Hagrid was doing, and if she was involved, Potter and Weasley would be, too. His curiosity was piqued. If they were contemplating skipping lessons, whatever Hagrid was doing had to be serious. What could it possibly be?

Draco racked his brains for an answer, but he was drawing a blank. He considered different plans of action as he scarfed down his breakfast. By the time he was done eating and set off for Defence Against the Dark Arts, he knew what he was going to do. He was relatively sure that Potter and his friends had Herbology next, and if he knew anything about the trio, it was that they hated inaction and would go to see Hagrid right away. If he really wanted to figure out what they were hiding, he would have to follow them there and see for himself.

Draco hated Defence Against the Dark Arts and Professor Quirrell on a good day, but on a day like today where he was impatient to figure out what his enemies were up to, he could barely sit still. The Slytherins had class with the Ravenclaws, and their eagerness to absorb knowledge and ask way too many questions of the professor threatened to push Draco over the edge. Would the class ever be over? Was there ever a topic the annoying Ravenclaw in the front row _didn't_ have a million questions about?

Finally, the bell sounded to dismiss them for their morning break. Draco had packed up a few minutes early and he leapt to his feet at once.

"Wait, where are you going?" Parkinson asked as he bolted for the door, leaving her, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott behind.

Draco didn't want to explain, so he gave her an irritable shake of his head and continued on his way, pushing impatiently through the crowds of students in the corridors. He reached the entrance hall later than he would've liked and hurried across the grounds, a hundred anxious questions swirling through his mind. What if the Gryffindors had been let out early? What if he'd been wrong about Potter's schedule? What if he'd already missed their visit to Hagrid, or maybe they were planning on visiting later?

When he reached Hagrid's hut and stood panting near the doorway, it occurred to him that he didn't have a plan of what to do next. It would be beyond strange for him to knock on the door, and besides, that would defeat the point of spying. After some thought, he walked around to the side of the hut and peered through a gap in the curtained window.

Draco was not at all prepared for the sight that greeted him.

The hut had only one room, with a massive bed in the corner and a roaring fireplace in the wall, blazing even though it was a warm April day. Normally, Draco would've sneered at how poor and desolate Hagrid's hut was, but his eyes were drawn to the middle of the room where Hagrid, Potter, Granger, and Weasley were crowded around a table. On that table was the most extraordinary sight: a huge black egg. It was full of cracks, and in front of their very eyes, it was breaking apart to reveal a…

…skinny, crumpled-looking black dragon.

Draco had to dig his fingers into the palms of his hands to keep from gasping and blowing his cover. Granger was right; Hagrid was going to be neck-deep in trouble once people found out he was in possession of a dragon! Everyone knew that dragon breeding and keeping them in captivity was against the law, since dragons were some of the most dangerous creatures in the wizarding world. Hagrid had to be even stupider than Draco had first thought if he thought he could get away with raising a dragon in his pathetic little hut without anybody noticing.

Draco's next thought was _what should I do now?_

As Draco's mind raced from scenario to scenario, Hagrid suddenly looked up from where he was trying to pet the dragon and their eyes locked. Draco's heart gave a sickening jolt of fear. Being caught was certainly not a part of his plan! He turned and sprinted as fast as he could back up to the castle, praying that Hagrid would not follow him. When he finally reached the castle after what felt like a millennium, he didn't dare look back. Instead, he hurried to the nearest bathroom and slammed the door behind him, trying to catch his breath.

That had certainly been a close call, as his fluttering heart was apt to remind him. However, he was still torn and unsure of what he was supposed to do next. Hagrid was raising an illegal dragon on school grounds, and Potter, Granger, and Weasley were helping him. What was his next plan of action?

Draco dropped his school bag on the ground and began to pace. His first thought was about his father. What was his father's advice at the beginning of the school year? Go to the Slytherin Head of House, the Headmaster, and then him, in that order. But would Professor Snape really be the best person to go to in this situation? Perhaps he should talk to Professor McGonagall, since it involved her students. But at the same time, she wasn't in charge of Hagrid, so as much as she would be of use in disciplining the Gryffindors, there was nothing she could do about Hagrid.

Okay, so he should bypass the Heads of House and go straight to the Headmaster. But would Dumbledore really do anything about it? It was Dumbledore who had hired Hagrid in the first place, as well as other questionable professors; Professor Quirrell came to mind. Besides, his father didn't have a high opinion of the Headmaster, and Draco was inclined to trust him. Even if Dumbledore decided to do something about the illegal dragon, Draco was almost sure that Potter and his friends would get off the hook and Hagrid wouldn't be fired.

That left him with his father. Out of all the people he could go to, he trusted his father the most. Yet there was a part of Draco that was hesitant to get his father involved. Yes, his father would help, but there was something alluring about being the sole person to turn in Potter, Hagrid, and his friends. Imagine how much attention and fame he would get if he single-handedly figured out their little scheme and busted them for it! He could feel his heartbeat quicken just thinking about it.

The bell rang to signal the end of morning break as Draco wrapped up his scheme in his head. Yes, he would write to his father for help, but he would be as vague as possible. If his father didn't have sufficient advice or demanded more information, then Draco would stick it out on his own. He headed off to Transfiguration, a new spring in his step as he imagined taking down Potter and Weasley once and for all.

After dinner, Draco went down to his room and composed his letter to his father.

 _Dear Father,_

 _I need some advice. Today I found out that a couple of first years in another house are involved with something that could not only get them into deep trouble but could possibly get them expelled. Obviously, someone needs to be notified. However, I don't have any tangible proof yet, and I don't think anyone would believe me without it. What should I do?_

 _Sincerely,_

 _Draco_

His father's response came two days later. Like Draco had suspected, the answer was unsatisfactory. His father seemed concerned and asked for more details, saying that it would be too difficult to give adequate advice without knowing more about the situation. Lucius also insisted that it would be a good idea to tell the students' Head of House and get the Headmaster involved.

Now Draco had to do some thinking and make a decision. Instead of lounging around the lake with Crabbe and Goyle as he would on a usual weekend, Draco dismissed them and headed to his corner of the library. His father had reacted like he had imagined, and he had already ruled out going to the Headmaster or the Heads of House. What should he do now?

Draco sat down, and, piling his schoolwork and books around him like a makeshift shield, he began to think things through. As he saw it, he had two options: turn the trio in right away and risk being dismissed as a liar, or wait until he had more evidence and turn them in then. It was tempting to turn them in as soon as possible, but he knew that his claims would seem far-fetched, even with evidence. So he settled on option two, waiting until he had more evidence. Besides, waiting would probably make the Gryffindors nervous and put them on edge, which sounded like a great bonus and something he would do regardless of the circumstances.

As the week progressed, Draco felt more and more as though he had made the right decision. It was definitely worth seeing the fear on Potter, Weasley, and Granger's faces every time he smirked at them in the corridors between classes. The few times that he was near them when the bell sounded to release students for break, he saw them bolt towards Hagrid's cabin at lightning speed. He was making them extremely nervous by waiting. Meanwhile, Draco kept his eyes peeled for anything that could be considered evidence of the illegal dragon.

His diligence paid off. The following Thursday, Draco was delighted to see Weasley walk into the Great Hall with one of his hands swollen to twice its normal size and wrapped up in a handkerchief. The idiot must've been bitten by the dragon. Potter and Granger sat with him, looking uncharacteristically worried. By the time Draco walked by the Gryffindor table at lunch, Weasley's hand had turned a nasty shade of green and Granger seemed to be encouraging him to go to the hospital wing. Draco wanted to leap for joy. Not only did he have his evidence, but now he could finally get back at Weasley for their brawl at the last Quidditch match! As soon as his last class was finished, Draco strode up to the hospital wing.

Madam Pomfrey hurried towards him as he entered, looking stern and slightly flustered like always.

"What do you need? Are you injured?"

"No, I'm here to visit Weasley. He's got a book I'd like to borrow."

Madam Pomfrey looked hesitant. "He just laid down and he really needs his rest. Can it wait?"

Draco shook his head, faking an apologetic smile. "Afraid not. It's for an assignment that's due tomorrow. He said I could borrow it from him this afternoon when he was done using it." When she hesitated again, he added hastily, "I won't take long, I promise. I'll just be in and out."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "Oh, alright, but no longer than five minutes."

Draco smirked triumphantly as she led him to where Weasley was lying in bed, his skin unnaturally pale. The blood-traitor's face paled even more at the sight of Draco.

"Mr Malfoy says you've got a book he'd like to borrow, Mr Weasley," she said. "You've got five minutes," she added to Draco, before walking off.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Weasley hissed, sweat beading on his forehead. "I know you don't need a book from me. Sod off."

Draco leaned towards Weasley's bedside table and plucked the top book off the stack, idly flipping through its pages. "Watch your language, Weasley, or I'll tell her what really bit you."

If it was possible for Weasley to lose the rest of the colour in his face, he did. "Go away, Malfoy," he insisted fiercely. "What bit me is none of your business and you know it."

"Oh, but it is my business," Draco said, picking up the next book in the stack and pretending to examine its ratty cover. "After all, it's quite illegal to breed or raise dragons in captivity. I'm sure even Hagrid knows that…?"

" _Keep your voice down!"_

Draco smirked broadly at him and picked up a third book, ignoring the other boy's panic. "What did you tell her bit you? Your little pet vermin? I'm sure Madam Pomfrey realizes that rat bites don't get infected like that."

"It's none of your business what I told her."

"Careful, Weasley, I'd be a bit politer if I were you. Like I said, I could walk over to her at any time and tell her what really happened."

"Please don't," Weasley begged.

"Why shouldn't I?" Draco put down the book he was holding and picked up one that was near the bottom of the stack, his eyes glinting as they bored into Weasley's face. "If I recall correctly, it was your grubby little infected hand that gave me a black eye a couple of months ago. It would only be fair."

Draco smirked broadly at Weasley's sickly, shaking form. The boy was sweating profusely. Weasley licked his pale lips before blurting out desperately, "You wouldn't."

"Oh, but I would." He narrowed his eyes. "You know I would."

Weasley swallowed.

Before anything else could be said, Madam Pomfrey bustled over. "How long does it take to borrow a book? Mr Weasley needs his rest," she fussed.

"Oh, don't worry, Madam Pomfrey, I was just leaving," Draco said smoothly, tucking the book under his arm. He turned back to Weasley and gave him an evil grin. "Thanks for the book, Weasley."

Then, chuckling to himself, he left the hospital wing. _It's only a matter of time,_ Draco told himself as he walked down to the dungeons to drop off his school bag before dinner. _It's only a matter of time before those stupid Gryffindors get what's coming to them._

He reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room and said, "Supremacy triumphant." The blank stone slid to the right to reveal Parkinson sitting by the fireplace with Davis and Bulstrode, deep in whispered conversation. He groaned inwardly. Merlin, he didn't want to talk to Parkinson right now, especially not when he wanted to savour the terrified look on Weasley's face a little while longer. He tried to slip past them, but to no avail. Parkinson leapt to her feet at once.

"Hi, Draco!" she said breathlessly.

He gave her a half-hearted nod and made to continue past her.

"Wait!" Parkinson's forehead creased and her nose wrinkled. "Is that your book? Why is it so…nasty?"

"What?" Draco looked down at the book in his hands. He had already forgotten that he'd taken one of Weasley's books. It was so old that the lettering was peeling away and the binding was falling apart. "Oh, this? It isn't mine. Found it on the ground. I suppose I'll chuck it." Parkinson opened her mouth to speak again but Draco said hastily, "Anyway, I've got to drop my books off before dinner."

He hurried off to the first-year boys' dormitory, eager to escape another long-winded gossip session with Parkinson. He dropped his school bag on his bed with a sigh. Then, turning Weasley's book over in his hands, he flipped through it, sneering at its warped and yellowing pages.

"Poor, stupid Weasley. Can't even afford one decent book."

As if to prove his point, a large piece of paper fluttered loose from the pages and landed lightly on the floor. Draco stooped to pick it up, assuming he would see the same tiny faded print as the book, but instead his eyes were met with the careless scrawl of someone's hand. His eyes widened more and more as he skimmed the note, his heart thudding in his chest as his brain processed the words on the page:

 _Dear Ron,_

 _How are you? Thanks for the letter — I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon._

 _Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark._

 _Send me an answer as soon as possible._

 _Love,_

 _Charlie_

Draco dropped the book on his bed, instantly forgotten, his mind an excited and anxious blur. Here it was right here, the evidence that would get Potter and Weasley expelled and Hagrid sacked once and for all! The letter shook slightly in his hands as he processed it. All his waiting had paid off! He was suddenly even gladder than before that he had gone to the hospital wing to taunt Weasley, and that he had been clever enough — lucky enough? — to think of borrowing one of his ratty books as an excuse. He was so excited that he could barely process what was happening. He took deep breaths to calm himself and sat down on the edge of his bed. Saturday. It would all be over on midnight at Saturday. He couldn't be more excited and proud of himself. Oh, wait until his father found out what he'd accomplished! He was going to be so proud!

Just then, Zabini and Nott entered the dormitory. Zabini flopped down on his bed with an exhausted sigh, while Nott dropped his books in a messy pile on his desk and sat down cross-legged on the floor. Zabini rolled over to face Draco as Draco hastily folded up the letter.

"Who's the letter from?" Zabini drawled.

A jolt of panic zipped through Draco. "Just my parents," he lied coolly. He didn't know what he was going to do with the evidence yet, so he certainly didn't want to let the other Slytherins in on his secret.

If Zabini thought he was acting weird, he said nothing. Instead, he rolled over onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes. "Merlin's saggy left nut, I'm tired. I've got to get more sleep or I'll end up with _wrinkles_." He spat out the last word as if it were the kiss of death. Removing his arm from his eyes and looking up at his bed's canopy, his tone turned thoughtful. "Maybe I'll skip dinner tonight to catch up on sleep."

Draco slipped the folded letter back into Weasley's old book and stuffed the ratty thing in his school bag. "You have fun with that. I'm going up to dinner."

Nott unfolded himself from the floor, nodding to Zabini on their way out.

Despite the afternoon's extraordinary chain of events, dinner passed uneventfully. By the time the boys got back to the dormitory, most of the candles were out and Zabini was asleep. Draco was one of the first to lie down, but he was awake long after everyone else went to bed. His mind was still on the incriminating letter in his school bag. Now that he had evidence to prove that Hagrid was hiding an illegal dragon in his hut, what should he do? He could imagine his father's voice loud and clear, and more than slightly indignant: " _What do you mean, what should you do? Tell Severus! Go to the Headmaster with the letter! Tell somebody! What are you waiting for?"_

 _Well, Father,_ Draco thought sleepily, _I'm waiting to turn them in. I want to be the one to do it, not Professor Snape, and that means waiting until Saturday to catch them._

He rolled over and snuggled deeper into the green silk sheets. Oh, yes, he couldn't wait until he got them expelled. _After all,_ he thought as he nodded off, _how difficult could it be to spot a group of Gryffindors lugging an illegal dragon to the top of the Astronomy tower after curfew?_

Saturday couldn't come soon enough.


	12. Chapter 12: The Forbidden Forest

**~ CHAPTER TWELVE: THE FORBIDDEN FOREST ~**

The week crept by at a snail's pace. Finally, _finally_ , Saturday night arrived. Draco got ready for bed at the same time as the rest of the first years, but as soon as it sounded as if the boys around him were asleep, he slipped out of bed and left the curtains drawn around his four-poster. He cracked the door and peeked out; there were only a few students left in the common room.

Draco paused to think. He had to be very careful if he wanted to sneak out and catch Potter and his friends without getting caught himself. Thankfully, it looked as though the students in the common room were preoccupied enough that they wouldn't notice him. Draco slipped out and closed the door behind him. Then he tiptoed around the edge of the common room, avoiding the fireplace, as it might shed light on his whereabouts. Several times he stopped and held his breath as a student turned in his direction. Finally, he came within feet of the door. He reached out his hand and —

"Draco? Is that you?"

He swore silently and spun around. A silhouette by the fire stepped forward to reveal Parkinson in a hideous pair of pink lace pyjama robes. Sweat gathered on Draco's palms and his heart beat faster. This couldn't be happening, not now! This was too important!

Parkinson, however, was completely oblivious to his panic. "What are you doing?"

"I was having trouble sleeping, so I came out here," Draco lied quickly.

"Me, too!" she said, looking positively delighted. "I could keep you company by the fire, if you'd like…?"

"No, that's okay, I was going to ask Madam Pomfrey for some Sleeping Draught," Draco said, pulling another lie out of thin air.

"Oh, maybe I could come with you!"

"No, don't bother. I'll be right back."

"But —" Parkinson looked supremely disappointed. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Draco said firmly, turning away.

He exited the common room hastily. As soon as the door slid shut behind him, he sprinted as quietly as he could down the corridor and took a few turns so that she couldn't follow him. Then he leaned against the wall and held a hand to his chest, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs. Stupid sodding Parkinson. That had been too close for comfort. He needed to be more careful if he wanted everything else to go according to plan.

The dungeon floors were cold against his bare feet as he moved on. He almost regretted leaving his slippers behind, but he knew bare feet would be stealthier than shoes. Up the stairs he crept, pausing at the doorway to the entrance hall. His heartbeat sped up again. What was that sound?

He poked his head around the doorframe. Just his luck: Peeves, the unruly Hogwarts poltergeist, was playing tennis against the wall. Draco crouched low against the top stair, thinking hard. At least he wasn't the only one inconvenienced by Peeves in the entrance hall; Potter and his friends would have a harder time sneaking around the castle, too. Besides, Peeves couldn't be there forever, right? Eventually he would get bored and float off to do something else destructive and annoying. Or at least Draco hoped so. He checked the watch he'd received for Christmas. It said 22:55.

 _Come on, Peeves,_ he thought spitefully. _I have places to be and lives to ruin!_

Finally, Peeves caught the tennis ball and zoomed up the stairs, rattling the suits of armour as he went. Draco stayed pressed against the top stair and strained his eyes in the gloom. Now it was the Gryffindors' chance to sneak out to Hagrid's hut. The minutes ticked by. Soon, his watch said 23:27. However, there was no sign of the Gryffindors. Draco's brow furrowed. How could they have gotten past him without him noticing?

At 23:40, Draco decided it was foolish to stay where he was. Regardless of where the Gryffindors were right now, he could catch them red-handed if he intercepted them before they could get rid of the dragon. He stood up, instantly regretting how long he'd stayed still. His limbs were stiff from lack of movement. Shaking his stiffness away, Draco crept into the entrance hall and up the wide marble staircase toward the highest Astronomy tower, his nerves buzzing with anticipation.

He reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower before midnight. Excitement surged through his veins. This was it! He was going to catch the Gryffindors, gain fame for himself, and get Potter expelled and Hagrid sacked! He could already picture the headlines in _The Daily Prophet_ and see the pride on his father's face. He was a genius!

Then it happened. In his excitement, he had forgotten to check the corridor, and something was upon him. He yelped and tried to pull away, but the thing had a tight grip on his ear. A lamp flared, shedding light on his captor. The thing was none other than Professor McGonagall, in a plaid dressing gown and a hair net and looking absolutely furious. Draco's stomach dropped into his feet. _No, no, no…this could not be happening…._

« Detention! » Professor McGonagall shouted, tightening her grip on his ear until she was pinching him. « And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how _dare_ you — »

Draco's stomach lurched. This was the absolute worst-case scenario, being caught long after curfew without evidence of the dragon and without a clue of the Gryffindors' whereabouts. Panic set in. He _had_ to make Professor McGonagall realize that he had a good reason for being out of bed. But what could he say? How could he start?

« You don't understand, Professor, » he said frantically. « Harry Potter's coming — he's got a dragon! »

Professor McGonagall swelled indignantly, looking as though she had never heard anything more ridiculous in her life. « What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on — I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy! »

"But Professor, it's true!" he wailed as she dragged him away down the stairs. "If you'll just let me go back — Potter's supposed to reach the tower before midnight, it's almost time —" Suddenly, he remembered he still had the incriminating letter stuffed in his school bag. "Wait, I have proof! I found a letter about the dragon in a book I borrowed from Ron Weasley! I can show it to you!"

"Utter rubbish!"

"No, really, if you would just let me get it —"

"Silence, Mr Malfoy. I'm sure Professor Snape will love to hear your reasoning for being out of bed so late."

Down, down, down into the dungeons they strode. The excitement that Draco had felt on his way up to the tower was replaced by nausea, horror, and frustration. He couldn't believe that his plan had gone so horribly wrong. Where had the Gryffindors gone? It should've been impossible for two first years to sneak a dragon past him, let alone someone as eagle-eyed as McGonagall. He checked his watch in despair as they neared Professor Snape's living quarters. It taunted him with a glowing 00:03.

He was too late. The dragon was gone.

Professor McGonagall rapped on Professor Snape's door, her grip still tight on his ear. After a minute, they heard a rustling and Professor Snape opened the door, dressed in black pyjama robes and a sleep cap. If looks could kill, they both would've been dead on the spot.

"Yes, Minerva? I assume you have a very good reason for bringing Mr Malfoy to my doorstep" — he flicked his wand and the time shimmered briefly in the air — "well after midnight?"

"I found Malfoy here prowling the corridor under the highest Astronomy tower only fifteen minutes ago," Professor McGonagall said, "and he gave me some balderdash about how he was there because Harry Potter was on his way with a _dragon."_

Draco wrested his ear from her grip. "I swear on my life, Professor, I'm telling the truth! I even have a letter to prove it."

Professor Snape raised his eyebrows so high that they disappeared under his sleep cap. "Potter snuck a dragon into Hogwarts and you come to me with Malfoy instead?"

"Malfoy _says_ he has a dragon," Professor McGonagall said stiffly, "but surely you don't believe him? Where in the world is a first year going to find a dragon, much less bring it up to the Astronomy tower without me seeing it?"

"It is not unlike Potter to break school rules," Professor Snape said coldly. "In fact, I think he has proven that he is more than capable and willing of breaking the lot, thinking that he can get away with it because he is the Boy Who Lived. I think we should stage an investigation and let Mr Malfoy here give us his evidence."

Some of the tension in Draco's stomach released as relief flooded through him. He had never been so thankful for Professor Snape's hatred of Potter than he was in this moment.

However, Professor McGonagall didn't look convinced. "Severus, even if the boy does show us the letter about a dragon, the likelihood of the story being true is next to nothing. The letter could've been faked, the handwriting could've been forged…there's no way we could prove an accusation so ridiculous without actual proof of the dragon itself. A letter won't cut it. And really," she added, shaking her head disapprovingly, "the very idea! A first year with a dragon in the castle after curfew! I will certainly be giving Potter a stern talking to about the consequences of spreading such a cock-and-bull story to get others in trouble."

Cold panic flooded Draco's stomach. "But Professor —"

"That's enough! I've had enough of this nonsense. I'm sorry to have bothered you, Severus. I've taken away twenty points and given the boy a detention, and I will be sure to punish Potter as well. I need to get back to my post. Come, Malfoy."

Professor Snape looked as if he had swallowed a mouthful of Stinksap. "You're going to let Potter off the hook for possession of a dangerous, illegal dragon on school grounds?"

"The story is merely rubbish created by Potter to get Malfoy in trouble and we have wasted enough time discussing it already! This discussion is over. Goodnight, Severus."

Professor McGonagall seised Draco's ear and dragged him away. When they neared the Slytherin dormitories, she let go of his ear. "Now, I expect you to go straight to bed, and no more of this dragon nonsense, you understand?"

There was nothing else he could do except nod and mumble, "Yes, ma'am."

Draco slumped into the empty common room, utterly defeated. He was a whirlwind of emotions: anger, horror, frustration, disappointment, and several others he was too tired to identify. His stomach reeled uncomfortably and his head pounded. There was a part of him that understood Professor McGonagall's logic concerning the letter and his lack of sufficient evidence, but there was a much larger part of him that wanted to scream and cry and throw a massive temper tantrum until he got his way.

It just wasn't _fair!_ Potter and his friends were going to get away with something highly illegal without so much as a point lost or a detention, and he was branded as a troublemaking liar! His anger built up in him until he felt as if he were going to explode. He had to let it out somehow. He slipped as quietly as he could into his dormitory, grabbed his school bag, and slipped back out. He found the book and the incriminating letter right away. His hands shook with anger as he took the letter and began ripping it into pieces.

"Stupid — sodding — Potter — I — hate — you — so — much —" he hissed between clenched teeth, spitting out a word for every time he ripped the letter in half. When the pieces were too tiny to continue, he threw the pieces into the fireplace and took the book in his hands. In a burst of anger, he ripped the book clean in half and started pulling out pages with abandon. "I HATE YOU! I hate you, I hate you, _I hate you!"_

He flung the decimated book into the flames as hard as he could and stomped with all his might on the crumpled pages littering the floor. Finally, he tossed those pages into the fire, too, until there was nothing left of the Weasley's tattered book or the blasted letter. His throat was very tight and heat pulsed behind his eyes. He wasn't going to cry. No, he wasn't going to cry over Potter. He was blasted Potter, for Merlin's sake; there was certainly nothing worth crying over, even if the sodding prat always got his way and never got in trouble and was considered the wizarding world's bloody Golden Boy. But the tears came even though Draco tried his darndest to hold them back. He scooped up his school bag and hurried to his dorm before anyone could see him in such a state. He climbed into bed and curled up under his sheets. Then he stopped fighting and let the tears fall.

 _Just this once,_ he told himself furiously, wiping the tears from his face as they trickled out. _Just this once, because that stupid Scarhead is getting away with something illegal and nobody believes you and he's a stupid, speccy git. Just this once. Oh, Merlin, I've never hated anyone so much in my life. I was telling the truth! It just isn't FAIR!_

Eventually, Draco fell asleep and woke up the next morning, groggy and with a sticky face from his tears. He hurried to the bathroom before the other boys could see him and washed his face. Then he did his normal morning routine, pulled his robes over his head, slicked his hair back, and went out into the common room, trying to look as innocuous as possible.

However, Parkinson hurried towards him as soon as she saw him. His heart sank into his feet. Maybe it was too late; maybe everyone had already heard of his humiliation the night before.

"Did you hear?" she exclaimed, causing his stomach to clench. "Gryffindor is suddenly down a hundred and fifty points! They're in last place and we're in the lead!"

" _What?"_

"Yeah, Gemma passed the hourglasses this morning and saw it! She couldn't believe her eyes!" Parkinson dropped her voice, her eyes glinting maliciously. "I heard it's because of Potter, Granger, and Longbottom. They were caught sneaking around the castle after midnight, can you believe it?"

Draco could hardly comprehend what Parkinson had just told him. "So they got caught, after all?" Some of the tension that had hold of his stomach lifted. "Oh, thank Merlin's lucky earlobe!"

"Wait, how did you know they were sneaking around the castle?" Parkinson narrowed her eyes. "Oh, don't tell me that you're the first year they tricked into believing they had a dragon."

Anger flared up in his belly. "They didn't trick me!" he hissed, dropping his voice. "I saw them in Hagrid's hut with a dragon, but nobody believed me and I got caught trying to get them in trouble. It serves those idiots right to lose so many points for Gryffindor, but it should've been worse. They should've been expelled."

"Well, I can't say I wouldn't enjoy that," Parkinson said, although she looked doubtful of the existence of a dragon on school grounds. "Are you coming to breakfast?"

He followed her up to the Great Hall, ignoring her obvious delight that he was walking with her. The burning anger and frustration that he had felt after being caught breaking the rules subsided slowly as he saw how hated Potter had become by his fellow Gryffindors. Although he was still irked that he couldn't prove the existence of the dragon, he was delighted that Potter had lost his popularity so quickly. People openly mocked him in the corridors, while Slytherins patted him on the back and thanked him for helping them secure the House Cup for the seventh year in a row. This continued for days until Draco found his spirits lifting. It was a good thing, too, because he couldn't afford to dwell on Potter with exams looming ever nearer on the horizon.

Then, about a week before exams, Draco received a note during breakfast that completely soured his mood. It was from Professor McGonagall, reminding him to meet Filch in the entrance hall at eleven o'clock pm to serve his detention. Ignoring Parkinson's pesky questions and Nott's raised eyebrow, he crumpled the note into a ball and stuffed it in his robes pocket. So much for his study plans.

His day was effectively ruined. The detention was made all the worse because he was going to miss his midnight Astronomy class. As eleven o'clock neared, he felt himself getting more and more nervous. He'd just remembered that the Gryffindors had been given detentions for sneaking out, too. Would he have to serve his detention with them? Finally, he gave up on trying to study and packed up his books. Then he sat in one of chairs in the common room with his arms crossed, refusing to talk to or acknowledge anyone, until it was time to leave.

The corridors were quiet and dark as Draco left the common room and headed up the stairs to the entrance hall. Filch was waiting near the front door with a nasty grin on his face, holding an unlit lamp.

"Here comes the little troublemaker," Filch said, leering at him. "Now we have to wait for the other three brats and we can go."

Blasted. So he _was_ serving his detention with the Gryffindors. However, he didn't speak to Filch; Draco was sure the look of disgust on his face was worth a thousand words. Instead, he stood as far away from Filch as possible and crossed his arms. Soon enough, Potter, Granger, and Longbottom came down the marble staircase. Potter and Granger looked resigned to their fate, while Longbottom looked absolutely terrified.

Filch lit his lamp and pushed open the doors, heading down the steps and across the grounds. The first years followed him with Potter in the front, followed by Granger and Longbottom walking side by side and Draco trailing behind them.

« I bet you'll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won't you, eh? » said Filch. He sounded positively delighted that they were being punished. « Oh, yes…hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me…. It's just a pity they let the old punishments die out…hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I've got the chains still in my office, keep 'em well-oiled in case they're ever needed…. » He turned and leered down at them. « And don't think of running off, now, it'll be worse for you if you do. »

It rather sounded as though Filch preferred that they _would_ run off, if only that meant that he could punish them more severely. Draco was sweating now, although he willed his face to stay as neutral as possible. What could their punishment be? He hadn't imagined it taking place outside. He had imagined writing lines or, at the worst, cleaning the corridors with Filch. But out here, on the grounds, after curfew? Draco glanced up at the dark silhouette of the Astronomy tower against the light of the moon. If only he could be up there instead of down here, serving detention with his least favourite people in the world and missing class….

The group neared Hagrid's hut. The only sound was Longbottom sniffling, which was beginning to get on Draco's nerves. Then out of the darkness, they heard,

« Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started. »

Draco's stomach dropped. No, this could not be happening. It was bad enough that he had to serve his detention with Potter and his friends; now he had to deal with Hagrid, too? Draco shot a glance at Potter. The stupid git looked relieved. Draco had the sudden urge to punch him in the face.

Filch must've seen Potter's face, too, for he frowned and said, « I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy — it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece. »

Draco stopped walking at once. « The forest? » He silently cursed himself for the little tremor his voice gave and pressed on. « We can't go in there at night — there's all sorts of things in there — werewolves, I heard. »

Longbottom make a choking noise, but for once Draco agreed with him. Werewolves were one of his biggest fears.

Filch grinned evilly at them. « That's your problem, isn't it? » he said with a delighted cackle. « Should've thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn't you? »

Draco swallowed. This was not anywhere close to what he had pictured when Professor McGonagall gave him a detention. His palms were sticky with sweat. Just then, Hagrid strode out of the shadows, holding a crossbow and arrows, a large black boarhound loping at his heels. For once, Draco was thankful for Hagrid's presence, as nothing would want to bother them with Hagrid nearby. Still, he couldn't help glaring at the giant; if it weren't for Hagrid's stupid dragon, he wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place.

« Abou' time, » Hagrid said, swinging his lamp and peering down at them. « I bin waitin' fer half an hour already. All right, Harry, Hermione? »

Draco turned his glare towards Potter and Granger as Filch said, « I shouldn't be too friendly to them, Hagrid. They're here to be punished, after all. »

« That's why yer late, is it? » the giant said, looking disapproving. « Bin lecturin' them, eh? 'Snot your place ter do that. Yeh've done yer bit, I'll take over from here. »

Filch narrowed his eyes. « I'll be back at dawn…for what's left of them. »

He grinned once more before hobbling up the grounds towards the castle. Draco shuddered. Good riddance! Filch was one of the nastiest, creepiest people he had ever met. Now he turned to Hagrid. Just seeing the Forbidden Forest made him want to run all the way back to the dungeons.

« I'm not going into that forest, » he said. It was impossible to keep the panic out of his voice. However, Hagrid looked the opposite of sympathetic, and Draco felt another stab of hatred for him.

« Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts, » Hagrid said. « Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh've got ter pay fer it. »

« But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do, » Draco protested, feeling very panicky now. « I thought we'd be copying lines or something, if my father knew I was doing this, he'd — »

« — tell yer that's how it is at Hogwarts, » Hagrid growled, losing all pretence of patience. « Copyin' lines! What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or yeh'll get out. If yeh think yer father'd rather you were expelled, then get back off ter the castle an' pack. Go on! »

Draco could tell he had lost the argument. He stood there a few moments, glowering at Hagrid before dropping his gaze. He had never hated Hagrid more than he did now. He couldn't wait until he had a chance to write home to the Manor and complain to Father about how detentions were being run at Hogwarts. Going into the Forbidden Forest after curfew, honestly!

« Right then, » Hagrid said, « now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment. »

Hagrid led them towards the edge of the dark forest.

« Look there, » Hagrid said, swinging his lamp forward to illuminate the ground between the tree roots. « See that stuff shinin' on the ground? Silvery stuff? That's unicorn blood. There's a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery. »

Images of the werewolves from the children's tales his father used to tell him flashed through Draco's mind. « And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first? » he asked shakily.

« There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang, » Hagrid said. Draco glanced at the huge black boarhound at Hagrid's heels, its long fangs glinting in the lamplight. « An' keep ter the path. Right, now we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least. »

« I want Fang, » Draco said quickly.

Fang panted and let out a low bark.

« Alright, but I warn yeh, he's a coward, » Hagrid said.

Draco reached for Fang and patted him hesitantly on the head, thinking of his puppy, Quaffle. However, Fang growled at him, so Draco quickly pulled his hand away.

Hagrid split them into two groups and taught them how to send up green sparks for the unicorn and red sparks for trouble. Then they set out into the forest. All too soon they reached a fork in the path; Hagrid went left with Potter and Granger, while Draco was stuck with Longbottom and Fang going right. Draco held the lamp and walked as close as possible to Fang, leaving the idiot Longbottom to scramble after him and trip clumsily over tree roots. It was nearly pitch black except for where the lamp shed a faint circle of light against the leaf-strewn ground. The farther they walked into the forest, the darker and quieter it got, until Draco felt like his heart might fly out of his chest. Every odd sound off the beaten path reminded him of how many scary beasts were lurking there, waiting for them to stray, so he resorted to the only way he knew how to make himself feel better.

"I bet you're terrified right now, Longbottom," he sneered, glancing in his direction.

Longbottom jumped in fright, as they had been walking in silence for minutes and the sudden noise startled him. Draco laughed, but the tension in his muscles refused to release. "Oh, what, did I scare you? Where's your Gryffindor bravery, now, huh?"

"I-I-I _am_ brave," Longbottom stammered, before tripping over another tree root.

Draco howled with laughter. Longbottom scrambled to his feet; even in the low light of the lamp, Draco could see how red his face had gotten.

"Oh, yeah? Then prove it." Draco held out the lamp. "Go on, _you_ lead us if you're so brave. Or are you going to take it back?"

"N-no." Longbottom took the lamp. It shook in his grip, sending faint beams of light dancing across the tree trunks. Fang whined and pawed at the ground.

Draco snorted, although his heartbeat accelerated at the thought of what might happen to the lit lamp in Longbottom's clumsy hand. "Careful, Longbottom, or you'll extinguish the lamp and then you'll _really_ be in trouble. Who do you think the werewolves will go after if we don't have a light source, me or your fat arse?"

Longbottom let out something that sounded like a squeak but started walking. Fang and Draco followed him. Draco had to admit, he was glad to not be at the front of the pack any longer. However, being in the back wasn't any better. He glanced over his shoulder for what seemed like the hundredth time. Was that a slithering sound across the dead leaves, or was he imagining things?

Suddenly Longbottom stopped. "D-did you hear t-that?"

Draco stopped, too. Fang cowered against Longbottom's leg.

"You mean that slithering sound?" Draco said, faking confidence. "You better watch out, Longbottom, I've heard there are hungry things in the forest that would love a midnight snack."

"S-stop it," Longbottom said shakily. "Y-you were the one wh-who said you were afraid of werewolves."

He started walking again, holding the lamp out in front of him.

Draco narrowed his eyes at Longbottom's back. What was _that_ supposed to mean? Did Longbottom really believe that Draco was more scared of the forest than he was? A surge of resentment momentarily overpowered his sense of fear. They walked in silence, all the while Draco's eyes trained on Longbottom's back. He was going to wait for the perfect time, and then he'd show him….

After a few minutes, Longbottom stopped again.

"M-malfoy? D-did you hear that?"

Now was the perfect time. He tiptoed to closer to Longbottom; the idiot was still facing away from him. Draco leapt forwards, grabbed Longbottom, and shouted, "Gotcha!"

Longbottom screamed and ripped himself out of Draco's grip. Before Draco could comprehend what was happening, the idiot had shot red sparks into the air and turned on Draco, his wand shaking as he pointed it at his attacker. Fang whined and pressed himself closer to the ground, looking back and forth between the two first years.

"M-malfoy? Was that you?" Longbottom looked horrified, dropping his wand.

"What the hell did you do that for?!" Draco yelled. He charged forward and shoved Longbottom, who fell backwards into a bramble bush. "It was just a joke, you imbecile! Now Hagrid's going to come find us thinking we're in danger!"

Longbottom struggled to untangle his robes from the brambles and keep the lamp alight. "How was I supposed to know?" he cried. "It could've been anything!"

Draco ground his teeth in frustration. He didn't feel any better after scaring Longbottom. Actually, now he was even more afraid because they had made enough noise to attract every creature in the forest. Draco turned away and scowled at the cowering boarhound at his feet. It seemed as though Hagrid had been right; Fang was the biggest coward of them all.

Suddenly, there was rustling and crashing in the undergrowth nearby. Draco gripped his wand and turned towards the source of the sound, but it was only Hagrid hurrying to meet them. Hagrid looked from Draco with his wand out, to Longbottom still struggling to untangle himself, to Fang scampering towards him with his tail between his legs, before looking back at Draco.

"Wha's the emergency? Are yeh hurt? What is it?"

"Malfoy snuck up behind me and scared me," Longbottom said tearfully, yanking at his entangled robes.

Draco scowled at him. "It was just a joke! He's too cowardly to take a joke!"

Hagrid was furious. "Are yeh serious? An' here I was, thinkin' yeh all were hurt!" Hagrid reached over and pulled Longbottom free from the bramble bush, brushing him off so forcefully that he almost knocked him back into the brambles. "We can't have stuff like this happenin' in the Forbidden Forest! Yeh should know better than that. Come on, we've got ter get back to the others."

Draco, Longbottom, and Fang followed Hagrid back through the forest, and soon enough, they came upon Potter and Granger waiting for them on the other path. Hagrid explained what happened, while Longbottom sidled over to them, avoiding eye contact with Draco.

« We'll be lucky ter catch anythin' now, with the racket you two were makin', » Hagrid said, glaring in Draco's direction. « Right, we're changin' groups — Neville, you stay with me an' Hermione, an' Harry, you go with Fang an' this idiot. »

Draco bristled and glowered at Hagrid. Longbottom was the idiot, not him! And why did he have to go with Potter? Oh, his father was _so_ hearing about this. He shot a nasty look at Potter as the boy joined him and handed him the lamp.

"Alright, everyone ready?" Hagrid said. "Let's go. Remember, green fer the unicorn an' red fer danger. An' that means real danger," he added gruffly, shooting another look in Draco's direction.

Then they split up. Draco strode down the path with the lamp swinging in his grip, refusing to look at Potter, who matched him step for step. Merlin, this was a nasty turn of events. Could this night get any worse?


	13. Chapter 13: A Taste of Defeat

**~ CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A TASTE OF DEFEAT ~**

Draco and Potter followed the path in tense silence, Fang keeping close to Potter's heels. Draco couldn't think of anywhere he wanted to be less than the Forbidden Forest after curfew with Potter and Hagrid's cowardly dog. Thankfully, it seemed as though Potter felt the same way, since he didn't say anything as they continued through the forest. The silence lasted for nearly twenty minutes before Draco broke it inadvertently when he walked through a huge spider web hanging low across the path.

"Blech! Spiders!" Draco nearly extinguished the lamp in his attempt to free himself and quickly set it down on the ground. "Oh, I hate the forest! Wait until my father hears about this!"

"You know Malfoy, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were scared," Potter said as Draco frantically wiped the spider webs off of himself.

Draco stopped at once and glared at him, snatching up the lamp.

"I'm not scared, Potter," he snapped. "You don't see me jumping around all willy-nilly like Longbottom and shooting off red sparks, do you? Now come on, let's go find that stupid unicorn so that I can get out of here and don't have to suffer from your company."

Potter merely raised his eyebrows in response.

They walked in silence for another ten minutes, Fang whimpering every so often, before Potter stuck out an arm and stopped Draco.

« Look, » Potter murmured.

The boys leaned forward. Over the past half hour, the trees had gradually become denser until they had to scramble over tree roots to follow the path. Now they had reached a break in the trees that opened into a clearing, where moonlight streamed onto the dusty ground and lit up the injured unicorn, now dead. It was blindingly white, with its legs splayed at odd angles and its pearly mane and tail spread across the leaves. Its horn caught the light and glinted silver. Draco knew it was only a beast, but it was still a sad sight. It had a large wound in its side and silver blood was splattered across the trees in the clearing, as if its last moments had been full of pain and agony.

Suddenly, the bushes rustled on the other side of the clearing. Draco opened his mouth to call to Potter, who was a step ahead of him, but nothing came out. The boys stood rooted to the spot as a hooded figure in a dark cloak came out of the shadows. The figure swooped down upon the dead unicorn, lowered its head, and began to drink from the beast's wound.

This time when Draco opened his mouth, his vocal chords worked. He screamed and turned on his heel, nearly tripping over a tree root in his haste. Then he bolted back down the path with Fang at his heels. It felt as though the trees were bearing down on him from all sides, slowly inching closer and closer until they could trap him and leave him for the werewolves. His lamp bobbed up and down in front of him as he scrambled over tree roots and pushed frantically through spider webs and brambles. Though his breath came in gasps and there was a massive stitch in his side, Draco didn't stop running until he saw moonlight through the trees and broke out of the Forbidden Forest onto the castle grounds. Then he collapsed in the grass. Fang bolted past him in the direction of Hagrid's cabin, yipping like a frightened puppy.

Draco's head spun, and not just from lack of oxygen. What _was_ that thing drinking the unicorn's blood? Had Hagrid known it was killing the unicorns? And more importantly, what sort of professors sent unarmed first years into the forest after curfew as a detention? He was definitely writing home about this. His father was right; Dumbledore was a menace to the school and needed to be sacked.

He got shakily to his feet and headed up to the castle. It wasn't until he reached the Slytherin common room and noticed he still had the lamp that he remembered Potter. He'd left him without a light source and without any backup. However, there was no way Draco was going anywhere near the Forbidden Forest again, especially not to help Potter. He blew out the lamp and tossed it near the fireplace. Hopefully Potter would be smart enough to send up sparks and wouldn't need the lamp. Besides, the Gryffindor would only have himself to blame if he got hurt, since he was stupid enough not to run away.

That night, Draco had his first memorable nightmare at Hogwarts. He dreamed he was running through the Forbidden Forest, chased by howling, slobbering werewolves. Suddenly, he ran through a spider web, except this web was large enough to hold a spider the size of an elephant. The harder he fought to escape it, the more entangled he became. The werewolves laughed as they closed in on him from behind. He screamed, but there was no one to hear him. He was trapped.

Draco jerked awake, covered in sweat and shaking. He lay awake until the sky began to lighten, staring up at the canopy over his four-poster and replaying the nightmare over and over again in his mind. That evening, as soon as classes wrapped up, Draco wrote a long letter to his father about how awful the detention had been and why he had been in detention in the first place. Then he sent it with Abraxas II during dinner. That taken care of, he buckled down and spent the rest of his time studying, as end-of-term exams were right around the corner.

Lucius's response came the day before exams. Though he sounded disappointed that Draco had allowed himself to be tricked by Potter and his friends — "I was _not_ tricked!" Draco yelled at the letter; "they really had a dragon! Why doesn't anybody believe me?" — he assured Draco that he had a sure-fire way to get Dumbledore and Hagrid sacked by the end of the next school year that was already in development. Some of the worry lifted off Draco's shoulders. He spent the rest of the evening studying and went to bed early.

The weather turned sweltering hot just in time for exams. Each class had a written portion, while some classes had an additional practical portion. In Potions, Draco brewed a Forgetfulness Potion and took a long multiple-choice test. Sweat trickled down his back and his hand cramped as he finished his Astronomy essay and double-checked his final star chart. The History of Magic exam was one hundred multiple-choice and five short-answer questions. Draco charmed a pineapple to tap-dance in Charms and turned a mouse into a snuff box in Transfiguration. The Herbology exam was a short presentation in front of the class on an assigned plant, while the Defence Against the Dark Arts exam was fifty multiple choice questions.

Finally, exams ended. Draco went for a swim in the lake with Crabbe and Goyle to cool off and destress from the four days of testing. The Hogwarts house-elves treated the students to a massive celebratory feast for dinner. Then Draco got ready for bed. He turned twelve the next day, and he couldn't wait to spend the day relaxing and celebrating.

However, he was roughly shaken awake on his birthday, before there was barely any light in the sky. When Draco rolled over and saw who it was, he was livid.

"What the hell, Parkinson?! What is _wrong_ with you? This is a boys-only dorm!"

Parkinson's face looked ghostly in the pale light as she smirked at him.

"You'll never guess what I heard," she whispered. "It's Potter, they say that he and a couple of other first years broke into the forbidden third-floor corridor!"

Normally, Draco would've been immediately intrigued, but he was still groggy, and he didn't want to spend his birthday hearing mad rumours about Potter's behaviour. "Can't it wait?" he said, pulling his pillow over his head.

Parkinson yanked the pillow away and Draco yelped in protest. "No, it can't, because that's just the _start_ of the rumours. Aren't you at _all_ interested in what they found in the forbidden corridor?"

"All I'm interested in is getting some sleep," Draco said, trying to take his pillow back, but Parkinson held it out of his reach. "And it's my birthday, so a 'Happy Birthday' would be nice," he added grumpily.

"Happy Birthday. Now guess what they found!"

"I don't care."

"A three-headed dog!" Parkinson said, bouncing up and down. He'd never seen her so excited. "And apparently it was guarding all sorts of dangerous obstacles! Potter's in the infirmary. Granger and Ron Weasley went with him, but unfortunately those two seem to have escaped in much better shape than Potter. They thought that Professor Snape was trying to steal whatever the three-headed dog was guarding, can you believe it?"

Draco's head was swimming. Nothing she was saying was making sense. He sat up and sighed. "Okay, Parkinson. Explain."

Parkinson looked delighted. She sat on the edge of his bed, ignoring his protests, and told him everything she'd heard. By this time, she had made enough noise to wake the other boys. They crowded around Draco's bed, looking more and more disbelieving as Parkinson's story went on. According to her, the Gryffindors believed that Professor Snape was trying to break into the forbidden third-floor corridor and steal treasure that Dumbledore was hiding, so they snuck out after curfew to stop him themselves. If that wasn't strange enough, they faced a three-headed dog, a huge plant with tentacles and teeth, and according to one of the maddest rumours, a fully-grown dragon.

"I heard Potter fainted and the other two had to run for help. But who knows what really happened?" Parkinson concluded, her face shining with glee. She leapt off of Draco's bed and hurried to the door. "I'll let you guys know if I hear anything else! Oh, and Happy Birthday, Draco!"

The boys echoed Parkinson's birthday wishes as Draco flopped back onto his bed and groaned. "So much for sleeping in on my birthday," he said into his pillow.

Zabini chuckled and tossed him a package. "That's from all of us," he said. "Nott told us it would go with his Christmas present to you."

Draco sat up and took the package. Inside was a new bundle of parchment and some bottles of expensive ink. "Thanks," he said.

Zabini nodded absentmindedly, fixing his hair in the mirror. "Oh, and there's an owl waiting for you in the common room. Somebody must've let it in."

Draco went out into the common room, still dazed from Parkinson's rumours. It seemed far too insane to be true, especially the part about the dragon. No wonder nobody had believed him about Hagrid owning a dragon and Potter sneaking it into the castle; it was just so far-fetched. But he didn't want to think about Potter now. He took the package from Abraxas II, who nipped his finger affectionately before flying out of the common room. It was a birthday letter from his parents and his favourite kind of cake, _mille-feuille_.

His mood increased exponentially with the package from his parents. He ate a large slice of cake for breakfast, pulled on his robes, and went down to the Great Hall with the other Slytherin first years. However, the only thing anybody wanted to talk about was Potter, Granger, Weasley, and their night-time adventure. By the end of the day, Draco was ready to strangle the next person who mentioned Potter's name. At least it seemed as though the rumours were correct and Potter was in the infirmary, so Draco didn't have to see his stupid face. It was just like the trio to create a huge scene to gain attention.

The next day was the sixth and final Quidditch game of the season, Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor. Draco decorated his school robes in Ravenclaw colours to wear to the match, along with a large group of Slytherins, and sat in the Ravenclaw section of the stands with Crabbe and Goyle to boo the Gryffindors. It seemed as though the entire school had shown up for the match. Most of them were wearing either scarlet or blue, except for the professors, who had stuck to black robes or their House colours, and Dumbledore, who was wearing deep purple.

Madam Hooch stood in the middle of field as the teams trooped up from the changing rooms. Draco scanned the Gryffindor team and was delighted to see that Potter was not there. _He must still be in the infirmary,_ Draco thought. Instead, there was a gangly, nervous-looking boy as Seeker. When the substitute Seeker turned to talk to the Gryffindor captain, Draco zoomed in with his binoculars to read the boy's jersey, which said ZHANG above the large gold 67.

When the teams were in position, Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the teams were off. Ravenclaw started out in possession, and it was apparent right away that they were in charge of the game. Without Potter to finish the game off as soon as possible, the Ravenclaw Chasers were scoring left and right. One of their throws nearly unseated the Gryffindor Keeper, Wood; another caused Wood to crash into the goalpost as he tried to keep the Quaffle away. A Bludger smashed into Gryffindor Chaser Bell when she tried to score, dislocating her elbow, while one of the Weasley twins nearly decapitated their Seeker, Zhang, by accident. Lee Jordan was trying his best not to sound disappointed and failing miserably.

Wood called a timeout when the score became one-hundred-and-fifty to nothing in favour of Ravenclaw. Draco zoomed in with his binoculars and watched in delight as Wood chewed out the Gryffindor team for playing so poorly. Then Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the game resumed. When the Ravenclaw Seeker finally caught the Snitch to win the game, the score was six-hundred-and-twenty to seventy, the worst loss Draco had ever seen. The Slytherins ripped off their Ravenclaw decorations to reveal the green and silver underneath, cheering the loudest out of everyone. Draco felt like he was on top of the world — Slytherin was going to win the House Cup for the seventh year in a row!

The end-of-year feast was two days after the Quidditch game. Rumours were still flying around about the Gryffindors, as according to Granger and Weasley, Potter had finally woken up. There was a new addition to the rumour, too, something about how Professor Quirrell was involved, and possibly even the Dark Lord himself. However, Draco didn't believe the rumours, and at any rate, he no longer cared. Potter and his friends were finally going to get a taste of defeat, and revenge had never tasted so sweet.

Draco sauntered up to the Great Hall with Crabbe and Goyle on Monday evening, smirking from ear to ear. Everything was decked out in Slytherin colours, including a massive green banner of a hissing serpent hanging on the wall behind the High Table. Even the candles floating above the students' heads were green and silver. There was a sudden murmuring when Potter walked in, but Draco merely smirked as Potter slipped into a seat between his friends and tried to look innocuous. It didn't matter what Potter did or thought anymore; Slytherin had won. Draco had won!

Soon Dumbledore stood up and stretched out his hands.

« Another year gone! » Dumbledore said, smiling. « But first I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. »

Draco sat up straighter and beamed; Dumbledore must be preparing to congratulate Slytherin for its win. The Slytherins around him chuckled and clinked their goblets together in a toast, obviously expecting the same.

« What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were…you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…. » Dumbledore paused. « Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points… »

Draco grinned in the direction of the Gryffindor table, which was unusually subdued. Potter, Granger, Weasley, and Longbottom shrunk lower in their seats as some of the older students sent them nasty looks.

« …in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six, and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two. »

The Slytherin table exploded in deafening cheers, stomps, and applause. Draco banged his goblet on the table and cheered as loud as he could, before clashing his goblet against Crabbe's in a violent toast. His face hurt from smiling so much.

« Yes, yes, » Dumbledore said, « well done, Slytherin. However, recent events must be taken into account. »

The Great Hall fell silent. Draco's stomach did a flop and landed somewhere much lower than it belonged, his smile fading from his face. He had a nasty feeling that they were about to find out just how true the rumours were involving Potter, Granger, and Weasley in the forbidden corridor.

« Ahem. I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…first — to Mr Ronald Weasley…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points. »

This time the Gryffindor table exploded, while Weasley turned maroon and the Hufflepuff table looked very put-out, having been pushed into last place. So, the rumours about a giant bewitched chess set were correct, after all, and Weasley had somehow beaten it. Draco did some quick math in his head. If Dumbledore gave the same amount of points to Potter and Granger for their actions in the corridor, they'd be only ten points away from Slytherin for the Cup. Surely, the Headmaster wouldn't take away Slytherin's title…right?

« Second — to Miss Hermione Granger…for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points. »

The Gryffindors were doing what they did best: making an insane amount of noise. They were cheering and hugging each other with abandon, looking besides themselves with joy. Draco wasn't sure what exactly Dumbledore meant by "cool logic in the face of fire," but Granger was crying from happiness. Meanwhile, the Ravenclaw table looked nervous, as the Gryffindors were now only fourteen points behind them.

« Third — to Mr Harry Potter… » The room fell silent. Draco looked from Potter's expectant face to Dumbledore's unreadable one, feeling his stomach churn. « …for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points. »

Draco's mind ground to a halt. _Sixty?_

It was as if a very powerful spell had exploded at the Gryffindor table. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs looked shocked, while some Slytherins booed loudly, although they couldn't be heard over the Gryffindors' cheers. Other Slytherins sat in silent disbelief. Draco was in the latter category; he had slopped water from his goblet down his front when he heard the word "sixty" fall from Dumbledore's lips, and he stared at the Headmaster with his mouth hanging open. Slytherin and Gryffindor, tied for the House Cup? What was Dumbledore playing at?

Dumbledore raised a hand and the hall gradually quieted down. Draco continued to stare at him, hoping against hope that Dumbledore was about to explain himself.

« There are all kinds of courage, » Dumbledore said, suddenly looking every one of his one hundred and nine years. « It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom. »

Nausea overwhelmed Draco, and for a second, he was afraid he was going to throw up all over the table as the Gryffindors filled the hall with a deafening din. Even the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students were applauding. Meanwhile, Longbottom had disappeared under a huge pile of people trying to hug him. Draco could not have been more shocked and horrified. Here he was, thinking that Potter had finally been defeated, and then Dumbledore yanked the rug out from underneath the Slytherins to gift it to the Gryffindors.

Dumbledore was talking again, but Draco couldn't hear him above the noise in the hall. It didn't matter, because seconds later, Dumbledore clapped his hands and the hall was suddenly decked out in scarlet and gold, while the serpent behind the High Table became a huge roaring lion. Food appeared on the many gold dishes in front of them. Draco stared down at his empty plate, too nauseous to eat. He just wanted to go home.

Finally, the school year drew to a close. Draco had come in second in the class to none other than Hermione Granger, even though his exam scores were stellar. He had been so excited for Hogwarts back in August, but now he was all too happy to pack his trunks, lock Abraxas II in his cage, and climb into one of the boats to cross over the lake. Then the students boarded the train to King's Cross. Draco's compartment was deathly quiet, as the boys were still processing the loss and didn't have anything to say to each other. Finally, the train pulled to a stop at the station. Draco was one of the first to exit the train and found his parents right away, standing near the Floo Networks.

"How is my darling little dragon?" Narcissa said, enveloping him in a huge hug.

"Horrible," Draco muttered. "Let's go home."

His parents looked shocked.

"Horrible?" Lucius repeated, taking Draco's trunks and owl cage.

Draco sighed and took his mother's hand tightly in his.

"I'll explain when we get home." He scowled across the platform at a group of bobbing redheads that were the Weasleys, plus the dark heads of Potter and Granger. "Trust me, I have so much to tell you…"


	14. Chapter 14: Summer at the Manor

**PART TWO**

 **{Year Two}**

"What would he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? He'd almost be glad of a sight of his archenemy, Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream..."

 _— Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,_ page 8

* * *

~ **CHAPTER FOURTEEN: SUMMER AT THE MANOR ~**

The Manor was beautiful in all weather, but especially during the summertime.

Draco leaned casually to the right, gliding high over the garden on his old Comet Two Sixty. Below him, the dark green hedges stood guard over the grounds and sunlight glinted off the water pouring from the old stone fountains. He banked upwards and skimmed over the roof, close enough that he could reach down and touch it. Then he flew in wide circles around the mansion, rising higher and higher each time. The higher he rose, the more he could see. He could see the entire garden and its maze of hedges, the large albino peafowl coop tucked in the trees, the long front walk leading to a wrought-iron gate, and far beyond the hedges, a little country lane that weaved through miles of forest before reaching a small Muggle village.

Draco swooped away from the Manor house, flying low across the tops of the trees. Malfoy Manor was far enough away from the nearest Muggle villages that he could practice Quidditch without worrying about breaking the International Statute of Secrecy. It was an impressive chunk of land, about seventy-seven acres in all. The Malfoys also owned several guest residences a few miles down the lane, as well as a fashionable flat in London and another in Paris for when his parents traveled. However, their other properties went uninhabited for most of the year. The Manor was his father's pride and joy.

Once he had warmed up thoroughly, Draco flew back to the garden where his father was waiting for him. Lucius was dressed impeccably as always, in perfectly-tailored black robes and black dress boots, with his white-blond hair tied back. He reached out his arm as his son landed.

"Here you are," Lucius said, opening his fist to reveal a Golden Snitch.

The Golden Snitch unfurled its silver wings and buzzed in the air a few inches above Lucius's hand. It was one of the many presents Draco had gotten last Christmas. It was also a physical symbol of Lucius's promise to buy Draco a new racing broom before the start of the next academic year. Draco took the fluttering Snitch between his thumb and pointer finger, holding it up so that it caught the light of the sun.

"I charmed it so that it won't fly past the boundaries of the garden," Lucius said. "That way, you can practice Seeking without worrying about losing the Snitch."

"Thanks, Father."

Draco let go of the Snitch. It fluttered in place for a second, before zooming off into the sky. Draco mounting his broom and waited until it was out of sight. Then he pushed off from the ground and soared into the air, keeping his eyes peeled for a flash of gold.

Draco was practicing to become the Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Last year's Seeker was seventh year Terence Higgs, but this year, the position was fair game. For the first portion of the summer, Draco had practiced flying techniques and catching golf ball-sized practice Snitches that didn't fly. Now, he was ready to chase after a real Snitch and put his newly acquired skills to the test.

Draco drifted over the back gardens, his eyes roving across the hedges for the Snitch. He had been very confident in his flying abilities when he had started at Hogwarts, but that was before he had met Harry Potter. Just thinking about Potter made him angry. The boy had rejected his friendship on the Hogwarts Express, turning them into instant enemies. Unfortunately, everything seemed to go Potter's way. As a first year, Potter became the Seeker of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, the youngest House player in a century. Then he proceeded to have the best Snitch luck Draco had ever seen. On top of that, Potter was prone to breaking the rules without receiving adequate retribution for his actions. It was incredibly unfair. Draco had dreamed of being a successful Seeker for years, so seeing his archenemy flying around on a brand-new Nimbus Two Thousand for Gryffindor was almost more than he could bear.

Draco's confidence in his flying abilities had faltered some since then. It didn't help that first years weren't allowed to bring their own brooms to Hogwarts — except Potter, as he always seemed to be the bloody exception to everything — so Draco hadn't flown regularly for almost a year. Now that he had the time, he was practicing every day. He was _not_ going to be shown up by Potter a second year in a row. It was time for him to become the Slytherin Seeker and defeat Potter once and for all.

Suddenly, Draco spotted a flash of gold next to one of the fountains. He dived for it through a cascade of water spilling from the stone centaur's mouth but missed it by an inch, saving himself just in time from falling head-first into the water pooled in the fountain's base. He floated away from the fountain and shook his head irritably, spraying the grass with water droplets. Blasted, now he'd lost sight of the Snitch. At least the practice Snitches couldn't change course in mid-air; this real Snitch was proving much trickier to catch. He rose above the hedges and started weaving back towards the front of the Manor house. Thank Merlin his father had charmed the Snitch to stay within the garden bounds.

Draco finished practicing a couple hours later. He was hot, irritable, tired, and parched. He had missed the Snitch more times than he could count, but at least near the end he'd caught it. It just wasn't fair! How did Potter catch the Snitch so quickly? Draco gritted his teeth together and trooped up to the front door, which swung open as he approached and closed behind him. It was much cooler and darker in the main hall. House-elves hurried to take Draco's shoes, broomstick, and Snitch.

"Where's Mother?" he asked as they all bowed.

"In the library, young master," one of them said.

Draco pushed past them and ascended the staircase. The Malfoy library was located in the back right-hand tower and stretched over two floors. It was his favourite room in the house, holding a collection of books so massive that the bookshelves reached from floor to ceiling. To reach the higher books, there was a spiral staircase that led to the thin balcony running around the room. Near the top of the tower, there was a small alcove that looked out upon the back gardens and could be reached by a small ladder. The alcove was Draco's favourite reading spot, while his parents preferred to sit in the armchairs on the ground floor of the library.

Narcissa was sitting in one the armchairs when Draco walked in. As he approached, the title of her book became readable: _Persecution: Why the Dark Arts are Wrongly Accused and How to Protect Yourself and Your Family_ by Vaurien Furcifer. He sat down in the armchair next to hers.

"Isn't that by the author of the Dark Arts book Father got me for Christmas?"

Narcissa looked up and smiled at her son. "Yes, it is. Mr Furcifer is a legend in the Dark Arts community. It's too bad he died so young."

"Really?" Draco's forehead scrunched up. "What happened to him?"

"He lost a duel."

"Oh."

Draco frowned to himself as he picked up a cup of tea from the side table between their chairs. Narcissa set her book down on her lap and scrutinised him.

"Is there something bothering you?" she asked quietly.

"Just Potter," he grumbled, not meeting her gaze.

She let out a sigh that Draco knew she hadn't meant for him to hear, which merely succeeded in making him more irritated.

"What is it this time, dear?"

He set his teacup down so hard that the saucer rattled. "It's not fair! Potter shouldn't have been allowed to be a Seeker during his first year! And he made it look so _easy_ , and I can't even catch a stupid Snitch!" He knew he wasn't explaining himself well, but it seemed to come with the territory. All he had to do to lose his eloquence in an instant was start ranting about Potter.

However, Narcissa seemed to understand. "Practicing again?"

"Yes," Draco said, "except this time with a real Snitch and not those dumb practice ones. And I couldn't even catch it! It kept dodging out of the way. I swear it doesn't like me. That's the only explanation, because there's no way Potter's better than me at Quidditch. He's not even that good."

"Mmm," said his mother.

"Everyone loves him so much, but it's just because he's famous," Draco said grumpily. " _I_ don't see anything special about him. The only thing he has is that stupid scar on his forehead. And look at the company he keeps! Blood-traitors like the Weasleys and filthy Mudbloods like Granger!" He trailed off, then started up again angrily, "And to think that she beat me at every exam! I can't wait until Father gets Dumbledore sacked."

"Yes, your father told me about that," his mother said, picking up her book again. "I just hope it all goes according to plan…."

Draco's brow furrowed again as he took a sip of his tea. Granger beating him for the top of the class rankled in more ways than one. Yes, she was a Mudblood, so it was embarrassing to lose to her, but there was another reason, one that he would never admit to anybody. Ever since he had seen her on the train, he'd had an interest in her that he couldn't explain. The worst part was that he hadn't realised she was of inferior blood until a week later when Parkinson had informed him of it. If his interest in Granger had gone away after learning she was a Mudblood, he wouldn't be as upset as he was now, but it didn't. It was still there, lurking just below the surface. He had been trying to suppress it all summer by talking poorly of her to his parents and Dobby, but so far it hadn't worked.

His mother had gone back to her book. Draco plucked a mini sandwich off of the silver platter and asked, "Where's Father?"

"He's working in his study," Narcissa said, setting her book down again. "But I wouldn't bother your father right now, dear. He isn't in a good mood."

"Why not? He seemed fine earlier."

Narcissa sighed. "It's the Ministry," she said. "They've picked up the number of raids this summer, and your father is worried they will raid the Manor. So far, he has managed to talk Fudge out of it, but there is still the possibility that one of their departments will pay us a visit."

Draco took a bite out of his sandwich and said thoughtfully, "Father's very respected at the Ministry, though, so why is he worried?"

"Remember all of those times your father has told you not to go around telling people that you believe in pure-blood supremacy? The same applies for the Dark Arts. Though they aren't technically illegal, the Ministry keeps a close eye on those rumoured to practice them. The so-called 'Unforgivable Curses' will land you a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. Not that the Ministry of Magic was opposed to using them during the last war," she added spitefully. "The Unforgivables are taboo, sure, unless it's convenient for the Ministry to use them."

"That doesn't sound fair," Draco said slowly.

"It isn't." Narcissa sighed. "I don't blame your father for being worried…."

She picked up her book again. The words _How to Protect Yourself and Your Family_ stared up at Draco from the front cover.

 _It's for the best,_ Draco thought. _Father is going to get Dumbledore sacked, and then things will be much better than they are now. Maybe Hogwarts will even start teaching the Dark Arts when he's gone._ He brushed the crumbs from his lap and stood up.

"If I promise to not bother him, can I go find Father?"

Narcissa sighed. "Oh, alright. Just be courteous of his mood."

Draco grabbed another sandwich and left to find his father. Lucius's study was on the third floor, across the corridor from the library. Draco knocked on the study door.

"Who is it?" Lucius called irritably.

"It's Draco, can I come in?"

The door swung open. Lucius was sitting at his desk with a huge binder full of yellowed pages in front of him, scribbling in it with an opulent peacock feather quill. The shelves around him held a collection of the most valuable books in the house, vials of potions, and jars of potion ingredients.

Lucius put down his quill and turned his chair towards Draco as he approached. "Yes? What is it?"

"Mother said we're in danger of being raided by the Ministry. Is that true?"

Lucius sighed. "When I had my last meeting with Fudge, yes, he said something about how he was under pressure to complete more raids."

"So what does that mean for us?"

"Ah, I'm glad you asked." Lucius pushed back his chair and stood up, taking one of the vials down off one of the shelves. "Draco, do you know what this is?"

Draco looked at the emerald liquid floating in the vial. It almost seemed to be glowing faintly. "No, it doesn't look familiar."

"This is the Drink of Despair. Anyone who consumes it, especially in large quantities, will be plagued by terrible hallucinations, extreme dehydration, and excruciating pain. And this," Lucius said, taking down another vial, this one with purple liquid, "this potion makes the drinker compliant to anything they are told to do, much like the Imperius Curse. Although they aren't _technically_ illegal in certain circumstances, the Ministry would confiscate them all the same. It would be bad publicity, as well as a strike against our public image, to be caught in possession of potions like these."

Lucius put the vials back and picked up two others. "Now, this poison is made from wolfsbane and yew and is instantly deadly. And this one, this poison is very hard to come by in England." He shook the second vial, watching the brown sludge swirl lazily around the glass. "It is a mixture of the deadliest plants in North America, including water hemlock, oleander, and white snakeroot. It's quite a useful little poison. But these, too, would be confiscated if the Ministry were to raid our house."

Lucius put the vials back. "Unfortunately, some of these poisons will probably have to go. But I don't think I can bear parting with the Mortiferum Poison, it's just too rare in England. I would have to take a trip to North America for the ingredients if I wanted to avoid the atrocious black-market prices in London."

"What are you going to do with the things you decide to get rid of?" Draco asked.

Lucius smiled. "Ah, for that, we will stop in Knockturn Alley when we go to London for your school supplies."

Excitement surged through Draco. "You'll take me with you this year?"

"Yes, I think it is about time I took you with me. After all, someday you will be doing business down that alley yourself." Lucius closed the binder on the desk and picked up a roll of parchment. "I have been doing an inventory of our Dark artefacts so that I can decide what to keep and what to sell. Right now, it looks as though I will be selling twenty vials of poison, ten vials of Dark potions, two books, and one of our cursed masks. Of course," he said, sounding irritated again, "I'll have to go through every room in the house to make sure I haven't missed anything. Blasted Ministry! I'll make another donation to Saint Mungo's the next time I see Fudge. That will placate him for the time being."

Lucius put down the parchment and ushered Draco out into the corridor, closing the door to the study behind them.

"But what happens if they raid us unexpectedly?" Draco asked.

"Ah, another good question," Lucius said, smiling mischievously. "We have a secret compartment under the drawing room floor for just the occasion." He clapped Draco on the back. "Armand Malfoy really knew how to build a Manor house, eh, son? Now, run along, I have to talk to your mother."

Draco ascended the stairs to his room, where he found his broomstick and Snitch already put away. He opened his curtains wide to let in the afternoon sunlight and laid down on his bed, feeling content. Not only was he going to get a new racing broom soon, but he was going to visit Knockturn Alley, and his father was going to get the Dumbledore sacked!

He had a feeling that this school year was going to be a good one.


	15. Chapter 15: Knockturn Alley

**~ CHAPTER FIFTEEN: KNOCKTURN ALLEY ~**

Draco spent most of his next few weeks outside of the Manor house. His father was increasingly irritable and could be found at all hours of the day taking inventory of their possessions. Meanwhile, his mother spent most of her time in the library, pouring over books on the Dark Arts. The tension in the house was unavoidable. Even their house-elves seemed to be feeling the pressure; Draco swore every time he saw Dobby, the house-elf had a new injury from self-inflicted punishment. Draco took advantage of the tension and spent most of his time flying and playing with their Scottish deerhounds in the garden. It wasn't as though he minded being outside the house, but the tension was starting to wear on his nerves.

Finally, a week after Draco's customary Hogwarts letter arrived, Lucius announced over breakfast that he was finished with the Manor inventory, so it was time to visit Knockturn Alley. Draco's stomach squirmed with excitement.

"Does that mean we're going today?" he asked, his breakfast already forgotten.

Lucius looked up from his eggs, and Draco remembered too late that his father was still in a bad mood.

"Yes," Lucius said, sounding as though he thought the answer was obvious. "However, it will just be me and you today; your mother has a migraine, so she will be staying home."

Draco wisely refrained from asking any more questions, although he was dying of curiosity. Soon enough, the house-elves scurried in to take away their plates, and they travelled by Floo powder to the Leaky Cauldron.

Draco was more than ready to see where his father did business in London. However, it was soon apparent that Lucius was not planning on going to Knockturn Alley right away. Lucius explored the Apothecary, examining potion ingredients, and Scribbulus Writing Implements, muttering about the inferior quality of their inks. By the time they passed Gringotts on the way to Knockturn Alley, some of Lucius's bad mood had rubbed off on his son. Draco was feeling sulky, impatient, and irritated, and even the sight of Knockturn Alley didn't raise his spirits.

Knockturn Alley was nothing like its cheerier counterpart. The alley was dark, narrow, and winding, with dusty shop windows and shadowy vendors' displays. Draco turned his head this way and that, trying to take in as much as possible. There was a shop selling poisonous candles, another with a cage of large spiders in its display window, and another with a sign proclaiming _Quality House-elves For Sale. Inquire inside for prices._ Even the people who shopped here seemed different. They were a lot less friendly, and some of them leered at Draco as he passed.

However, Lucius didn't stop to observe their surroundings. Instead, he made a beeline for one of the largest shops, Borgin and Burkes. A bell clanged from somewhere above their heads as they entered. The shop was full of fascinating items, including glass cases of Dark artefacts, human bones scattered across the front counter, and rusty torture instruments hanging like gruesome trophies from the ceiling. There was a brick fireplace in the left-hand wall, and to the right of the fireplace was a handsome black cabinet. Draco stood by his father at the counter, gazing around. A bloodshot glass eye on display caught his attention, but no sooner had he reached for it when Lucius said,

« Touch nothing, Draco. »

« I thought you were going to buy me a present, » Draco said, still feeling bad-tempered.

« I said I would buy you a racing broom, » said his father.

« What's the good of that if I'm not on the house team? » Draco asked sulkily as he examined the display. « Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's _famous_ …famous for having a stupid _scar_ on his forehead… » He bent down to look at a shelf of human skulls as he continued spitefully, « …everyone thinks he's so _smart_ , wonderful _Potter_ with his _scar_ and his _broomstick_ — »

« You have told me this at least a dozen times already, » Lucius interrupted. « And I would remind you, once again, that it is not _prudent_ to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear — ah, Mr Borgin, » he said, straightening up.

Draco looked up from the shelf of skulls. The owner of the shop had appeared behind the counter, sporting a hunched back, greasy hair, and dusty black robes.

« Mr Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again, » Mr Borgin said. « Delighted — and young Master Malfoy, too, » he said, bowing slightly in Draco's direction. « Charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced — » Mr Borgin moved towards a display case behind the counter, but Lucius interrupted him.

« I'm not buying today, Mr Borgin, but selling. »

« Selling? » The man sounded disappointed.

« You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids? » Lucius pulled a roll of parchment from his robes and unrolled it. « I have a few — ah — items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call… »

Draco moved away from the counter, though he was still listening as Mr Borgin took the list from Lucius and peered down at it.

« The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely? » Mr Borgin asked after a few moments, echoing Draco's earlier sentiments.

Draco bent down to examine a purple cushion that seated a withered, severed hand.

« I have not been visited yet, » Lucius said. « The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumours about a new Muggle Protection Act — no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it — and as you can see, certain of these poisons might make it _appear_ — »

« I understand, sir, of course, » Mr Borgin said quickly. « Let me see… »

« Can I have _that?_ » Draco interrupted, pointing to the withered hand he was examining. He was determined to leave the shop with at least one Dark item of his own.

Mr Borgin looked delighted. He dropped Lucius's list at once and hurried over, a new spring in his step.

« Ah, the Hand of Glory! » Mr Borgin said, opening up the glass case. « Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! » He lifted up the dusty cushion and surveyed the withered hand proudly. « Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir, » he said to Lucius.

One look at Lucius's face, however, told Draco everything he needed to know.

« I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin, » Lucius said coldly, his grey eyes boring into the shop owner.

Mr Borgin put the withered hand away and closed the glass case at once.

« Of course, sir, no offence, sir, no offence meant — »

Lucius turned his steely gaze to Draco.

« Though if his grades don't pick up, » he said, sounding colder still, « that may indeed be all he is fit for. »

Draco felt a pang of frustration and resentment. The last thing he wanted to do was hear his father harangue him about his grades for the hundredth time this summer, and in public, too.

« It's not my fault, » Draco retorted, stepping away from the display case. « The teachers all have favourites, that Hermione Granger — »

« I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizarding family beat you in every exam, » Lucius snapped.

Draco closed his mouth, feeling furious and wounded. There was nothing he could say in his defence. It was true; he was ashamed, but it didn't help that his father enjoyed bringing it up at least once a week. Draco turned away from the men, fuming.

« It's the same all over, » Mr Borgin was saying as Draco picked up one of the human bones on the counter. « Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere — »

« Not with me, » Lucius said coldly.

"No, sir, not with me, sir," Mr Borgin said quickly.

« In that case, perhaps we can return to my list. I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today — »

"Of course, sir, of course," Mr Borgin said, picking up the parchment on the counter. "Where would you like to start…?"

"Well, these poisons here are quite valuable…"

Draco tuned them out as he walked farther away from the counter, still smarting from his father's insults. On one shelf, there was a dusty coil of hangman's rope, a cracked vase, and an opal necklace whose sign read _Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed — Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle Owners to Date_. Next to the opal necklace was a seemingly-normal bug collection whose peeling label said _Guaranteed to Plague Your Enemies_ and a jewellery box engraved with serpents.

Draco moved on to the next shelf. It held skulls of various small rodents, poisoned arrow tips, and a book whose leather binding was made from human skin. The next shelf was filled with dusty books with peeling gold titles on their spines and a cracked globe that encased a stuffed lion's head. It was all cool enough, but none of it interested him as much as the withered hand did.

He looked up and realised that he'd reached the corner of the store, near the brick fireplace. In front of him was a handsome black cabinet with gold handles and gold filigree around the edges of the doors. He reached out for the handle, but his fingers were inches from the door when his father called,

« Come, Draco. »

Draco turned away from the cabinet. "Already?"

"Yes."

"Can't I get just one thing?"

"No."

Draco walked up to the counter reluctantly as Lucius turned to the shop owner and said briskly, « Good day to you, Mr Borgin. I'll expect you at the Manor tomorrow to pick up the goods. »

Then he beckoned to Draco and they left the shop.

"I really wanted the Hand of Glory," Draco said grumpily as they strode down the narrow street towards Diagon Alley.

"I'm already getting you a racing broom," Lucius said coldly. "I would think that is enough for one day."

Draco knew well enough not to argue with his father in the mood that he was in, but he still sulked as they rounded the corner and stepped out into the bright light and cheerful colours of Diagon Alley.

"Now," Lucius said, handing his son a sack of wizarding gold, "I have some other business to attend to, but I figured you could go into the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop and take a look around while I'm gone. Then when I come back, we can get the rest of your supplies and buy you that racing broom."

"Why couldn't I have had this money back in Borgin and Burkes?" Draco asked sulkily, opening the sack to peer inside.

"Oh, for Salazar's sake, Draco, have you heard _nothing_ your mother and I have said this summer about the Ministry raids?" Lucius snapped. "You can buy some Dark artefacts when we are less in danger of being caught with them! _Merlin_ …."

Draco gritted his teeth together. "Okay, okay, I get it."

"Just go," Lucius said irritably. "I'll meet you back here in about an hour."

Then his father turned and strode off.

Draco was in an understandably poor mood when he entered Quality Quidditch Supplies. However, the shop soon cheered him up. It was paradise for Quidditch lovers: freshly-waxed models of racing brooms hung from the ceiling, jerseys of famous players stood on display, and the shelves were lined with Quidditch supplies. There were different styles of gloves, chest and head gear for Keepers, and various shin and arm guards. There was even a section near the back of the store where Beaters could test-swing the bats on display to see if they were the right size, length, and weight.

Draco strolled down the aisles and examined everything in the store. Then he bought a deluxe edition of _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , new Quidditch gloves, and a mini Nimbus Two Thousand, small enough for his Quidditch action figures. His father wasn't back by the time he finished, so he ambled over to Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and bought himself an ice cream sundae. His father showed up as Draco was eating his last few bites, looking unusually excited and in a much better mood.

"I got someone to take the poisoned swords off our hands," he whispered to Draco as he slid into the seat next to him. "The swords were the last thing on the list. And I scheduled a meeting with Fudge, where I can present him with another donation to Saint Mungo's. Looks like we're in the clear for now."

Draco swallowed his last bite of ice cream. "Does that mean we won't be raided?"

Lucius smiled. "Yes, we should be good for another couple of months, at least. Not to mention, I got the rest of your supplies while I was gone." Lucius motioned to the leather satchel on his shoulder. "The only things left to get are your books and your racing broom."

It was with a new spring in their step that the Malfoys headed off to get Draco's books. Flourish and Blotts was unusually crowded, so much so that the crowd spilled out into the street. On closer inspection, most of them were middle-aged witches, jostling each other and screeching that they must be let inside, or else protesting that someone had cut them in line. Draco peered over their heads to read the sign over the front door: _GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography_ MAGICAL ME _today 12:30 pm to 4:30 pm._ Above the words was a huge photo of a wizard with blond hair and blue eyes who was continually winking at them.

"Isn't that the author of most of our textbooks this year?" Draco asked his father.

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "Yes, but if you ask me, he looks as though he has never fought a duel in his life. Give it to Dumbledore to hire someone who requires their students to buy Lockhart's entire collection…."

They squeezed inside, Lucius giving the squealing witches in line a nasty look as they passed. Then Draco grabbed a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 2)_ and the entire collection of Lockhart's books. As Lucius paid for them, Draco sauntered away from the counter to get a look at Lockhart. He was near the back of the shop, surrounded by pictures of his own smiling face and signing a book for an elderly witch who looked ready to faint with excitement. Draco scanned the room and his heart did a funny jolt. Potter was near the front of the line, standing with Granger and the Weasleys.

Unfortunately, Lockhart spotted Potter at about the same time Draco did. The wizard started, stood up, and exclaimed, « It _can't_ be Harry Potter? »

Draco scowled as Lockhart hurried forward and pulled Potter to the front of the line, shaking the boy's hand vigorously and beaming in the direction of the _Daily Prophet_ photographers. Purple smoke wafted over the crowd with every flash of their cameras. As soon as Lockhart let go of Potter's hand, he threw an arm around Potter's shoulder and drew him to his side.

« Ladies and gentlemen, what an extraordinary moment this is! » Lockhart beamed at the crowd. « The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time! When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography — which I shall be happy to present to him now, free of charge — »

The crowd cheered and applauded, but Draco narrowed his eyes at Potter, who was still clutched tightly to Lockhart's side.

« He had _no idea,_ » Lockhart said, giving Potter a shake, « that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, _Magical Me._ He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! »

So, it was Lockhart who had put his own books on the required books list. Draco could tell he was going to hate Defence Against the Dark Arts even more than he did last year. Meanwhile, Lockhart was frantically shaking Potter's hand while signing a copy of _Magical Me_ with his other hand. Then he piled the entire collection of his works in Potter's arms and sent him off with a hearty clap on the back. Draco pushed his way through the crowd, following Potter at a distance. The boy had escaped to the edge of the room and was dumping his new books into the Weasley girl's cauldron as Draco approached.

« Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter? » Draco drawled.

Potter straightened up to face him. The boy's mop of black curls was as messy as ever, hiding the thin lightning bolt scar on his forehead, and his green eyes narrowed at Draco from behind his glasses.

« _Famous_ Harry Potter, » Draco continued spitefully. « Can't even go into a _bookshop_ without making the front page. »

« Leave him alone, he didn't want all that! » said the Weasley girl, her little hands clenched in fists. Her chin jutted out defiantly as she glared at Draco.

Ah, so Weasley's little sister had a crush on Potter. Draco smirked broadly and looked up at him. « Potter, you've got yourself a _girlfriend!_ »

He had guessed accurately; the Weaslette turned the same colour as her hair. As the little girl struggled to come up with a retort, Draco saw Weasley and Granger pushing their way through the crowd, Granger's parents following close behind them. At least he assumed they were her parents, as Granger looked a lot like them. She had the same afro of hair as her mother and the same nose and eyes as her father. He hadn't realized that Muggles were capable of seeing the Leaky Cauldron, much less wandering around Diagon Alley to help their children buy school supplies. Seeing them surprised Draco so much that he missed the opportunity to be the first to throw an insult.

« Oh, it's you, » Weasley said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. « Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, eh? »

« Not as surprised as I am to see you in the shop, Weasley, » Draco retorted, quickly recovering from his shock. « I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those. »

Weasley turned scarlet. He threw his books into his younger sister's cauldron and advanced on Draco, but Potter and Granger grabbed his arms and held him back. Behind them, Mr Weasley was approaching, followed by the Weasley twins. Draco felt a flutter of panic; he was quickly becoming far outnumbered. Thankfully, Lucius appeared by his side seconds later with the satchel of new books slung over his shoulder.

« Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley. »

« Lucius, » Mr Weasley replied coldly.

« Busy time at the Ministry, I hear, » Lucius said. « All those raids…I hope they're paying you overtime? »

He leaned over Draco's shoulder and plucked a book from the Weaslette's cauldron, holding it up for all to see. It was a battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ , so old that the title was nearly illegible and the binding was coming undone. Draco smirked at Potter and Weasley as Lucius said,

« Obviously not. Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it? »

Mr Weasley flushed the darkest of all the Weasleys. « We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy. »

Lucius lifted his chin, his eyes moving from Mr Weasley to Granger's Muggle parents.

« Clearly, » he said. « The company you keep, Weasley…and I thought your family could sink no lower — »

Draco let out a cry of shock; Mr Weasley had tackled his father into the nearest bookshelf. Draco stumbled out of the way as spellbooks came crashing down on them. People screamed and the crowd shuffled backward, knocking over more shelves in their haste to move out of the way. Thick purple smoke drifted over the crowd as the _Daily Prophet_ photographers snapped frantically. Meanwhile, the bookshop assistant looked ready to cry, waving his arms wildly in an attempt to stop the fight. Suddenly, Draco heard someone shout over the din,

« Break it up, there, gents, break it up — »

It was none other than the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid, shoving his way through the crowd and pulling the two men apart with ease. Mr Weasley was holding an _Encyclopaedia of Toadstools_ that he had used to hit Lucius in the eye, while Lucius's knuckles were bloody where he had busted open Mr Weasley's lower lip. Draco hurried forward as his father shoved the Weaslette's battered Transfiguration book at her.

« Here, girl — take your book, » Lucius said maliciously. « It's the best your father can give you…. »

Then he pulled himself from Hagrid's grip and, sneering at the gaping crowd, he beckoned to Draco and swept away. Draco hurried after him. The crowd parted easily to let them through, and in no time at all, they were stepping out into the glaring sunshine of Diagon Alley.

"That Arthur Weasley is the lowest of the low," Lucius spat, massaging his face where Mr Weasley had hit him. "Wallowing in filth, poor as dirt, and keeping the company of Muggles and Mudbloods…an absolute disgrace! Oh, just wait until he gets what's coming to him…."

However, by the time they entered Quality Quidditch Supplies and began examining the new racing brooms on display, Lucius's mood had mysteriously improved, so much so that he insisted they look at only the most expensive models. Draco couldn't believe his luck. The sales-witch looked as though she couldn't believe her luck, either.

Finally, Lucius turned to Draco. "Which one is your favourite?"

"That one," Draco said, pointing to the newest Nimbus model on display.

"Ah, yes, this came in just yesterday," the sales-witch said. "It's the best racing broom money can buy, but there are only a few available. We've already had several professional Quidditch captains reserve enough to seat an entire Quidditch team."

Lucius nodded once, looking pleased.

"We will have a Nimbus Two Thousand and One," he said to the sales-witch, who looked as though she had just won the lottery.

"Yes, sir, I'll get that ready for you," she said quickly, before hurrying off to tell the shop manager.

A few minutes later, Draco walked out of Quality Quidditch Supplies, grinning ear to ear and clutching his brand-new racing broom, wrapped in brown paper.

"Just wait until you become the star of the Slytherin team," Lucius said, placing a firm hand on Draco's shoulder. He smiled at his son, his eyes glinting with pride.

Draco tried to smile back, but a sudden anxiety gripped him: what if he didn't even make the team? No, he couldn't think like that. He was a good flyer, and he had practiced diligently over the summer; he would be fine. He pushed the thought away, clutching his new racing broom closer to his chest. He couldn't wait to be Seeker.

Potter wouldn't know what hit him.


	16. Chapter 16: Where's Potter?

**~ CHAPTER SIXTEEN: WHERE'S POTTER? ~**

Draco loved his Nimbus Two Thousand and One, which was much faster than his old Comet Two Sixty. It responded to his lightest touch, accelerated in the blink of an eye, and stopped nearly as quickly. He was so excited that he didn't wonder for long about what had improved his father's mood. Whatever it was, Draco was thankful for it; tension no longer gripped the Manor and his parents were much less irritable. In fact, his father was practically cheerful. Draco spent the rest of his summer flying and getting the feel for his new broom.

A few nights before the start of term, Draco woke up thirsty. As he tiptoed down the corridor to get some water, he was surprised to find his parents awake. Candlelight spilled out from the gap between their bedroom door and the floor. What were they doing still up? Draco crept forward curiously.

"Don't worry, I have it under control," his father was saying soothingly as Draco put his ear to the door. "The plan is already in motion."

"But what about Draco? He —"

"He will be fine. There's no reason for the plan to affect him in any way."

"How can you be so sure?" Draco had never heard so much fire in his mother's voice, especially directed at his father.

"Trust me, it won't hurt him." After a pause, Lucius said in a gentler voice, "You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes," Narcissa said softly.

"Then trust me on this. Draco will be fine, I promise. Mark my words, we will be rid of both Dumbledore and that brute gamekeeper by the end of the year. Hogwarts won't be any worse for wear, and everything will be okay. Go to sleep, honey."

The candles went out, throwing the corridor into darkness. Draco crept back to his room, thirst forgotten. Why was his mother so worried? It's not like Draco could get expelled because of something his father did, right? His curiosity was peaked. The next morning, he decided to bring it up during breakfast.

"So, Father," Draco said casually, taking a slice of bacon. "You know how you've been saying for months that you have a foolproof plan to sack Dumbledore?"

Narcissa stiffened but Lucius didn't even glance up from his newspaper. "Mm-hmm."

"What exactly is your plan?"

Lucius turned the page. "I can't tell you that. Just promise me that whatever happens, you'll keep your head down and your nose out of it, hmm?"

"What?" Draco said, startled.

Lucius looked up from his newspaper for the first time.

"You heard me," he said. "I don't want you involved."

"But how can I avoid getting involved if I don't know what's going to happen?" Draco asked incredulously. "What if I get involved merely because I don't know?"

Lucius raised his eyebrows. "That is very unlikely."

"But how do you know that? What if I become involved accidentally?"

"You won't if you keep your head down and your nose out of it," Lucius said firmly.

"So then why can't you just tell me what it is?"

"Your father said no," Narcissa said suddenly. "Drop it, Draco."

Draco closed his mouth, feeling wounded. The rest of breakfast passed silently, and Draco stormed up to his room as soon as he was finished eating. It just wasn't fair! He couldn't wait until he could get to Hogwarts and see his father's plan in motion.

The last few days passed quickly. The night before September 1st, Narcissa knocked on his door frame and entered as Draco was packing his trunks.

"Here," she said, tapping one of the trunks with her wand. Though the outside of the trunk stayed the same size, the inside expanded until it could hold two trunks' worth of belongings. She tapped the trunk again before stowing her wand in her robes. "Now you only have to take one trunk with you, and it's lighter, so you won't have any difficulty carrying it."

"Thanks, Mother," Draco said gratefully.

Narcissa paused. After a few seconds, she said, "You know, your father and I only want what's best for you. When your father asked you not to get involved, he was looking out for your best interests. Will you promise me that you'll do your best to stay out of trouble this year?"

Draco swallowed. "Yes, Mother."

"Good. Now get a good night's sleep; you have a long day ahead of you tomorrow."

The next morning dawned bright and early, promising a sunny day. Draco wolfed down his breakfast and said goodbye to Quaffle, who was now much too large to be a puppy. Then the house-elves scurried in to clean the dining room and bring in Draco's belongings. However, one house-elf was conspicuously missing.

"Where is Dobby?" Lucius snapped at one of the house-elves.

"Wanda doesn't know, Master," she squeaked, cowering under his fierce gaze. "Dobby was in the kitchens earlier, sir, but he is gone now. I is not keeping track of him, sir."

"Well, find Dobby and tell him to come see me," Lucius said, looking very annoyed. "I do not have time for a misbehaving house-elf, yet he has been disappearing at inopportune times all summer. Maybe it is time for another flogging…." He glared at the house-elves, who had stopped and were watching him with wide eyes. "Did I tell you to stop? Do you want to get flogged, too? Get moving!"

The house-elves moved as fast as possible to clear away the dishes, while one of them brought Draco's belongings forward and scurried off.

"I swear that house-elf will be the death of me," Lucius muttered as he took a pinch of Floo Powder. "Always running off, constantly misbehaving, and not even acting as though he would dislike being set free. Just wait until I get my hands on him…."

Lucius tossed the glittery powder into the fireplace. "King's Cross, platform nine and three-quarters!" he said, before disappearing into the flames.

Narcissa took Draco's trunk, while Draco picked up Abraxas II in his cage. Then they traveled through the flames to King's Cross, stepping out next to Lucius. Platform nine and three-quarters was chaotic as usual, filled with excited students and frazzled parents. Steam from the Hogwarts Express floated over the heads of the crowd and owls hooted at each other from their cages. Younger siblings tagged along behind their families, whining about how they should be allowed to go to Hogwarts, too. Draco wrinkled his nose as he passed a father trying to soothe his crying baby. He did _not_ want kids when he grew up.

The Malfoys quickly found the Notts, Crabbes, and Goyles. While the parents talked, the four boys walked down the train and picked an empty compartment to stow away their trunks. Draco set Abraxas II's cage on one of the seats next to Nott's screech owl. Then the boys went to say goodbye to their parents.

"Remember what I said about staying out of trouble," Narcissa whispered in his ear as she gave him a hug. She pulled away, smiling as if she hadn't said anything, but there was fire in her eyes. Lucius clapped a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"You will work harder this year to become top of your year, no?" he said, raising his eyebrows slightly. "I am looking forward to your stint on the Quidditch team, as well."

Draco stepped away from them, feeling the weight of their expectations on his shoulders. "Yes, Father, Mother. See you at Christmas."

Then he climbed onto the train, where Crabbe and Goyle were already waiting. Nott entered their compartment last and sat down near the door. Draco looked out the window as the train's whistle sounded; his parents were standing next to the Crabbes, barely visible over the heads of the last families hurrying their children onto the train. The train began to move. Draco nodded to his parents and they dipped their heads in reply. Then the train rounded the corner and they were out of sight.

The boys changed into their Hogwarts robes right away. Nott became engrossed in his book, while Draco bragged to Crabbe and Goyle about his new racing broom and his plans to become the Slytherin Seeker. Around lunchtime, the trolley witch stopped by their compartment with sweets. The boys lapsed into silence as they ate. It was a beautiful day, with sunny landscapes flashing past their windows and cows grazing in the fields. However, Draco could feel the boredom setting in as the hours passed. Finally, he sat up impatiently and shook Crabbe and Goyle awake.

"I'm bored. Let's go find Potter," he said.

His cronies grinned stupidly and agreed, setting off down the train. They passed the Weasley twins with Jordan, Johnson, and Lee; the young Weasley girl with Longbottom and Granger; and most of the other second years, but Potter and Weasley were conspicuously absent. The Slytherins walked up and down the train twice before going back to their compartment, completely befuddled.

"Where's Potter?" Draco said angrily as he reentered the compartment and plopped down by the window. "The train isn't that big. Where on earth could he be?"

"Dunno," Nott said from behind his book. "Parkinson popped in earlier, though. She said she has something to tell you."

Draco groaned and leaned his forehead against the glass.

"I don't want to talk to her right now," he said grumpily.

"Well, better act fast then, because here she comes," Nott said.

Draco barely had time to register Nott's words and sit up before Parkinson slid open their compartment door and bounded in.

"Draco! Vin, Greg, Theo, hi! Oh, I'm so glad you guys are back!"

She forced herself between Draco and Crabbe, sitting as close to Draco as possible without climbing into his lap. Draco moved away, giving her a look of poorly-disguised disdain.

"So, guess what?" Parkinson said, launching straight into her first gossip session of the year. "I was walking past Granger and Longbottom's compartment and heard the most unbelievable news. Apparently Potter and Weasley _missed the train!"_

" _What?"_ Draco exclaimed.

As much as Parkinson irritated him, he had to admit having her around had its perks, mostly in the form of rumours about Potter.

"That's what I heard!" Parkinson sounded delighted that she had Draco's full attention. "The little Weasel girl was saying that Potter stayed with them over the summer, but their family was running late this morning on the way to King's Cross. The Gryffindors were supposed to be the last ones through the barrier from Muggle London. When she turned to see if Potter and her brother were following, they were nowhere to be seen! But it was too late to go looking for them. As it was, the rest of the Weasleys almost missed the train themselves."

"That's unbelievable," Draco said, his mouth corners twitching into a smirk. "That must've been why I couldn't find Potter on the train! I wonder what will happen to them? Maybe they'll be _expelled!"_

"I doubt it," Parkinson said, for once sounding like the voice of reason.

"I second that," Nott said from behind his book.

"The Weasley girl was saying something about how her parents would take care of it," said Parkinson. "Maybe they'll take a later train and miss the feast."

"There aren't any later trains," Draco said irritably, still squished against the wall to avoid touching her. "They might have to take a Portkey or use the Floo Networks. I'm still in favour of their expulsion. Merlin knows that Potter has earned it."

Just then, Parkinson's lot of Slytherin girls appeared at the door. Tracey Davis was Parkinson's best friend, a short, brown-skinned girl with long box braids and an upturned nose. Millicent Bulstrode reminded Draco of Crabbe and Goyle, as she was large and imposing, with a square jaw. Then Daphne Greengrass was a tall brunette with large, round glasses and skin even paler than Draco's. She enjoyed studying more than any of the other girls, which meant that she was sometimes the subject of Parkinson's jokes.

Tracey slid open the door, but the girls stayed out in the hallway, as the compartment was starting to become crowded. "Come on, Pans," she said. "We've got some juicy gossip about the Ravenclaws in the compartment next to ours!"

Parkinson leapt up immediately. "The fourth years?"

"Yes!"

"Oooh, this is going to be good!" Parkinson hurried to the door, never one to miss an opportunity to spread rumours. "Bye, Draco! See you later!" With a saucy flip of her bob, she was gone.

"Good riddance," Draco said, massaging his forehead. "Merlin, all that girl brings is headaches and nonsense."

"And gossip, don't forget gossip. Without her, you wouldn't know why Potter was missing," Nott said reasonably from behind his book.

"I suppose you're right," Draco muttered. "She still irks me, though."

The boys fell silent again as the sun set, sending rays of red and pink light through the train windows. Crabbe and Goyle dozed off, while the only movement from Nott was when he flipped a page. Draco put his chin in his hand and looked out the window. He had bigger things to worry about than Potter, like performing well at the Quidditch tryouts. Still, a part of him hoped Potter and Weasley would be expelled. As disdainful as he'd been towards Parkinson, he didn't actually know how the Gryffindors would make it to Hogwarts. He'd never heard of anyone being stupid enough to miss the train.

Finally, the train began to slow. Draco shook Crabbe and Goyle awake, and the four boys followed the crowd of students to the front of the train. As soon as it stopped, the students poured out onto the dark platform, wrapping their robes closer around them to cut out the chilly night air. Hagrid called out in the distance for the first years to follow him, but Draco didn't see or hear anybody leading the way for the older students.

"Where do we go?" Draco muttered to Nott, who shrugged.

As the boys stood around, trying to figure out what to do, Draco noticed that the older students were walking along the platform in the direction of the winding road outside Hogsmeade Station.

"Oh yeah," he said, louder this time. "I bet we take the carriages we took for Christmas break. Come on."

He strode off through crowd, not waiting for them to keep up. He slipped out of the station and stood on the tips of his toes, his eyes roaming over the tops of students' heads. A line of horseless carriages awaited them at the edge of road, their dark silhouettes melting into the blackness of the sky.

Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott appeared behind him and he led the way to the nearest empty carriage. It smelled slightly musty, as if it hadn't been aired in months, and it was so dark that the other boys looked like mere phantoms. Draco's lip curled as he dusted off his spot and sat down. After a few minutes, the carriage jolted and started to move. The boys stayed silent as the line of carriages wound through the wizarding village of Hogsmeade, around the lake, and up the mountain towards the castle. Draco, for one, was not in the mood to make small talk, and the other three were not known for their conversational skills. It was well enough. Draco didn't mind silence.

Eventually, the carriages rattled to a stop. Draco climbed out of the carriage, up the castle's wide stone steps, and into the Great Hall with the rest of the students. It was strange to see it mostly empty; even the professors' seats were not filled yet, except for Dumbledore in the middle and Lockhart near the end. Draco scowled at Lockhart as he sat down. The bloke looked even more idiotic now that he wasn't surrounded by screaming witches and flashing cameras, sitting at the High Table in aquamarine robes and a matching pointed hat.

Following his gaze, Parkinson leaned across the table.

"Who is that?" she said as she pointed to Lockhart.

"He's our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," Draco said. "And don't you dare say he's attractive," he added, catching the look on Parkinson's face.

Parkinson smirked. "Ooh, do I detect some jealousy, Draco?"

"Not even in your wildest dreams," he retorted. "But I don't want to hear even one word about how _dreamy_ he is, because Merlin knows that's all we're going to hear this year."

Parkinson's smirk widened. "Well, now that you mention it, he is kind of —"

"Don't. Say. It."

"— _dreamy_."

Draco nailed her with a glare and she smiled back sweetly. Merlin, had she always been this unbearable?

Thankfully, the Great Hall filled up quickly, as did the High Table. Soon, the only seats that were empty were Professor McGonagall's and Professor Snape's. Draco perched his head on his hand and stared off into space. His stomach was rumbling and his mind was fixated on his upcoming Quidditch tryout; he couldn't wait for the Sorting to be over so that he could eat and get a good night's sleep.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and Professor McGonagall strode in, followed by a straggling line of terrified-looking first years. The Sorting couldn't go by quick enough; the Sorting Hat's song was unremarkable, while all the first years blended together. Draco's eyes had glazed over by the time Professor McGonagall took the hat away and Dumbledore stood up to give his beginning-of-the-term speech.

"Welcome! Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts," said the Headmaster, looking down his half-moon spectacles at the students. "Before we dig into our marvelous feast, I have the great pleasure to welcome a new professor to our ranks. Professor Gilderoy Lockhart has graciously taken up the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, after Professor Quirrell's hasty resignation."

Lockhart stood up and beamed at the crowd, his arms outstretched. "Thank you, thank you," he said, bowing so low that his hat toppled off. He snatched it up and placed it at a jaunty angle over his hair, his smiling growing larger. "Ah, yes, I meant to do that. As I was saying, it is a great honour to be your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and I cannot wait to teach you everything I know." He gave an exaggerated wink. "I do have quite a bit of tricks up my sleeve. So far in my humble existence, I have banished a banshee, saved a Muggle village from werewolves, duelled with vampires, and — well, I'm sure you'll see when you read my collection and see me in class, eh?"

The other professors sat in stony-faced silence, while one of Professor McGonagall's eyes twitched.

"Ah, yes, thank you for the lively introduction, Gilderoy," said Dumbledore. It was impossible to see his facial expression due to his long silver beard, but Draco could've sworn he was trying not to smile. "Let the feast begin!"

Draco was one of the first students to load his plate, if only so that he could combat the loud protesting of his stomach. "Banished a banshee my arse," he said angrily to Crabbe and Goyle, between bites of food. "I swear Dumbledore is even nuttier than he was last year. Professor Quirrell, and now this git? Just wait until my father catches wind of this. He's got big plans for Hogwarts this year, like getting Dumbledore and Hagrid sacked. I'll have to ask him to add Lockhart to his list…."

The rest of the feast passed uneventfully. Dumbledore gave the typical start-of-term notices, and as soon as he was done, Draco stood up and strode down to the dormitories. He couldn't wait to sleep, and he was tantalisingly close to the second-year boy's dormitory when Parkinson called after him.

"Wait, Draco!"

"What do you want this time, Parkinson?" Draco snapped, turning on his heel. "Can't you see that I'm exhausted?"

"No need to bite my head off. I just thought you'd be interested in this headline," Parkinson said, tossing him a rolled-up newspaper as a nasty smirk spread across her face. "It's the _Evening Prophet_. I think I've figured out where Potter and Weasley went."

Dreading what he was about to see, Draco unrolled the newspaper. It had a black and white photo of a car flying in and out of a swath of fluffy clouds, and above it, it said in all caps: _FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES_.

Draco gaped at Parkinson, willing it to be false, but her smirk merely widened.

Oh, Merlin, how he hated Potter.


End file.
